by Lee Isserow
In an instant, she knew what the leathery sheath was. An ancient condom, made from the guts of a sheep. She took him in her hand, lining up the archaic prophylactic and began to place it over his manhood.
His eyes went wide as he saw it―and he batted the leathery sleeve across the room.
As soon as it left her grasp, the spell was broken, the lust evaporating in the blink of an eye.
They stared at each another, frozen in the moment, suddenly all too aware that not only were they in a state of undress, but her hand was still clutching him, his fingers similarly placed on her.
Neither dare move, for fear of teasing the other's genitals. Their eyes met, both aghast at the situation, and in an instant they withdraw their hands, turning around on the floor, reaching wildly for their clothes, and attempted to redress and regain their composure and dignity.
“Sorry,” she said.
“That's okay.”
“I didn't mean to―”
“It was the condom.”
“―The condom?”
“It's a little possessed.”
“A little?!”
“A lot possessed.”
“You leave a possessed condom on a shelf?”
“That's why it's on the shelf and not on the coffee table. . .”
“What would have happened if we had. . . you know. . .”
“It would have impregnated you with a sheep monster, just before it bit my dick off.”
“Why would you keep that at all!?”
“It's a conversation starter―see how it started this conversation. . .”
She was not amused. They got dressed in silence, each looking in the opposite direction, and even once their clothes were back on, they couldn't meet the other's eye.
“You have a very firm grip,” he said, trying to make a joke. That encouraged a glare from Ana―although as soon as he caught it, both their eyes shot across the room to anything else.
Sitting on the couch, with plenty of space between them, neither wanted to admit that the intense burst of sexual desire they both experienced was based on the genuine attraction they actually felt for each another.
“How do we use me as bait?” Ana asked, desperate for a distraction, and conversation that wasn't about what had just happened.
“Excuse me?”
“This guy, if he is my grandmother's―my mother's―spurned beau, like the librarian said. . . if that's what he is. . . how do we make him try and kill me again?”
“He knows we're on to him, he wouldn't be that bold. . . let alone that dumb. . .”
“So how do we make him think we're quitting? That the investigation is over, that we think I'm safe or whatever?”
Rafe had an idea, and at first, he wasn't sure Ana would give it a shot. Then he realised what it would have to entail, and knew in an instant that she would definitely want to go ahead with his awful, terrible plan.
Chapter 43
An unceremonious thud
Ana tore out of Rafe's building, slamming the door behind her with such force, it almost took his nose out as he tried to give chase. Struggling with the latch, he burst onto the street in pursuit.
“Please! Just think about it!”
“Think about it?!” she spat, continuing to strut in the opposite direction down Oxford Street as he ran after her. “How is having sex with you going to save the damn day?!”
“You don't know until you try it. . .“ he muttered between short, sharp breaths. His body was not accustomed to trying to talk whilst walking at speed.
Ana stopped dead in the street and spun on her heel. “That is that single slimiest thing I've ever heard!” she said, planting a loud, hard slap across his cheek. “Is that what you do, Rafe? Find women in peril, save them just to get in their damn pants?! You make me sick!” Her knee shot through the air before he could make to block it, and slammed mercilessly into his testicles.
Falling to the ground with an unceremonious thud, he gasped as he watched her storm away, disappearing in the midst of the busy London crowds.
He wanted to follow, wanted to keep tabs on her, make sure that she was safe. But he knew there was no point. She didn't want him anywhere near her. Not for the moment, at least.
Chapter 44
A blissful void
Unlocking the door of her house, Ana waited until it was slammed shut behind her before she let the tears fall. As soon as the floodgates were open, they didn't feel like they would ever stop.
Her life felt like a mess―her situation a hopeless joke. Her grandmother was dead, torn from the inside out by some kind of ancient demon. Her mother was her sister. Her father was a mysterious man whose name was too secret to put on a damn family tree, let alone how many other family trees he was probably at the head of.
It felt like she was living some kind of awful supernatural edition of The Jerry Springer Show. And on top of all that, the one man she thought she could trust in all this had turned her life upside-down.
Finally finding a break in the tears, she forced herself up the stairs and ran herself a bath. Ana couldn't remember when she last washed, but felt dirty, whether that was because of days on the run, or Rafe's advances, she just needed to be clean.
As she settled in the water, it was like a warm embrace holding her close. She closed her eyes and took long, deep breaths, trying to find some semblance of calm in a head that was turning over at a thousand thoughts a minute.
There had to be a way out of this, a way to find the truth about who was trying to kill her, her bloodline, and why. Some method that Rafe hadn't thought of, that didn't involve sweaty naked times. . .
As the water became cold, the tears came again. She felt powerless, useless, as if the whole world had it in for her, for reasons beyond her control and understanding.
After drying off, Ana crawled into bed. It was too early for bed, but what the hell else did she have to do? She wasn't going to come up with a solution, not whilst she was in that mindset. She reached over and drew the curtains, closing her eyes and taking yet more deep breaths, trying to will sleep to come for her, for slumber to take her. Wanting nothing more than to be in a blissful void anywhere else.
Chapter 45
Waves of disgusting intents
In the dark, silent expanse of slumber, Ana finally found peace. Her thoughts were no longer racing by. There was no fear or anxiety. For a moment, at least, she felt like her old self again.
Until she became aware that she was not alone in the darkness. She could feel the creature approaching. Its footsteps silent, silken on the ebony ground beneath it. But she could sense it, as if it were radiating an aura, waves of disgusting intents and foul lust emanating out as it grew ever nearer.
She could tell that the hideous beast was engorged, ready to violate her, for real this time, before it made to gestate inside her core, and tear out through her physical shell.
Ana didn't see the point in fighting. The idea of trying to run, to escape or hide in the depths of the dreamscape didn't even occur to her. She let it come, let it take her. Bony fingers grabbed hold of her shoulders as it mounted from behind. She held imagined breath tight in her chest as she prepared herself for the impending penetration.
Its elongated digits slid across her neck, reaching down and grasping on to her breasts, squeezing them tightly for purchase. She felt as though it were using them like one of those multicoloured holds on an indoor climbing wall. She grimaced, but didn't fight, feeling the disgusting fiend's body writhing up against hers, its flesh rough and scaly against the smooth skin of her back.
Its scabrous phallus grazed between her legs, burgeoning with intent of forcing its way inside her, and she grit her teeth. It would all be over soon.
Turning at the waist, she sealed a sigil and directed it at the creature. It flew from her body, thrown at force somewhere into the black.
In the bedroom, a loud thud woke her from the dream as the Dybbuk found itself tossed from atop her, whipping across the
bedroom, slamming against the closet. It burst on the impact, turning to smoke, and began to coalesce back into a solid form.
In an instant, she rose from the bed and was on her feet, hands whipping through the air, fingers tracing out a sigil as Rafe had taught her, binding the hideous thing to the physical realm. He had been insistent on teaching her the symbols―without a binding, the thing could just dissipate as it had before, and escape all over again.
The creature screamed with a raw throat that had never known what it was to be made of flesh. Its amorphous, almost gaseous body was being solidified, pulled in on itself, turning from a shifting humanoid cloud to a glistening solid form with glassy texture. It tried to move, to break free, but every time it did so, cracks tore through its flesh, sealing up after themselves, as if it were some kind of living sculpture. She waited until the screams ceased and the Dybbuk stopped trying to fight the enchantment that had been cast to its body. When she was certain it was bound to the realm, Ana ran out the bedroom and down the stairs, just in time to see Rafe walk through a door.
“Did it work?”
“Yeah,” she said, splintering off from him and checking the kitchen, whilst Rafe looked around the dining room.
Their public display of going their separate ways had obviously been seen by the man who was trying to kill her. He had sent the damn thing back to her house, which meant the box had to be there, somewhere.
Not finding it hidden in plain sight on any of the surfaces in the kitchen, she came back out and met Rafe at the door to the living room. On a silent count, he opened the door and she stepped through with a sigil primed on her fingertips, sealing and throwing the casting at a figure by the door to the back garden.
The man froze in place, box in his hands, struggling against the hold of the magick she used to hold him.
Rafe flicked the light switch, and although the man stared at him with scorn, he didn't recognise the older toad-like man. His skin was slick with sweat that glimmered under the bulb light, making his face look all the more rough and uneven.
But Ana knew him. She knew him all too well. He had been a permanent fixture in her life for as long as she could remember, her grandmother's oldest and dearest friend, the only friend of hers that bothered to turn up to the funeral. The very man who had read the will, that resulted in Ana receiving the damn box in the first place.
“Bunkle,” she spat.
“I prefer Mister Bunkle,” he corrected, through gritted teeth, trying to fight the hold her magick had on him. Ana could tell that he was trying to turn to mist, as he had the last time he ran away with the box. She wasn't going to let him get away, not again.
A sickly smile crawled up Bunkle's face. He wasn't looking at Ana, nor at Rafe. His gaze was straight over their shoulders, through the door.
The two of them heard a contorted snarl, the sound underscored by a cacophonous tinkle of broken glass, as the Dybbuk's body cracked and put itself back together every time it moved. The creature lifted its hands into the air, showing off its ten razor sharp claws, a haunting, contorted smile on its face, thousands of teeth on display.
The physical manifestation of the creature looked at Ana with lustful, shiny eyes. It was going to get its fill of flesh that night, one way or another.
Chapter 46
Cracks
Ana and Rafe darted out of the way as the Dybbuk's claws came for them, whistling through the air, looking for warm bodies to tear into. Rafe threw a fist into the side of its face, his fingers cracking as if he were punching a thick window. The beast turned, smiling wide and gleefully as it turned to him, slashing at the air, missing him by barely a hair's breadth.
Ana took a breath and searched through her memory for a sigil she had seen before. Grabbing hold of the inside of her lip between her teeth, she bit through it and ran the fingers of her right hand across the cut, soaking her fingertips in blood, before letting them meet the fingers of her left hand.
She re-enacted Rafe's movement from her memory, holding her hands upright in front of her chest as if they were binoculars, before sealing the sigil by lining up her thumbs and throwing her fingers apart. Just as in her mother's bedroom, an explosion of microscopic fireworks butterflied out from between her hands, shooting across the room, turning from sparkling streaks into ethereal rays of yellow and purple light that slammed the monster of glass into the wall.
An intricate network of spider's web cracks shot out through its entire body―beginning to heal almost instantly.
“It's bound to the realm,” Rafe said, catching his breath. “But it still can't be killed, not by physical force at least. . .”
The beast turned from the wall with an angry look in its eyes. Once again, it slashed at the air in front of them. Rafe jumped across the room, throwing cushions and pillows from the couch into the demon's way, sending foam and feathers into the air as it tore through them. He grabbed hold of a lamp, tugging the cord out of the wall.
“Hey! Stop that!” Ana shouted. “It's bad enough having a damn monster in my living room―Please don't destroy my bloody furniture in the process!”
The crystalline creature snarled, leaping towards her. Ana dropped to the floor, feeling a searing pain behind her. As she picked herself up, her back felt cold. Reaching to her spine, she found something warm and wet on her fingers. The skin across her back had been flayed, jagged tears open to the air. Suddenly, she registered the pain―imagining it as a fraction of everything her grandmother suffered through as the hideous thing burst out and crawled from the old woman.
She glared at Bunkle, standing in front of her with a grimace as he tried to fight the hold that held him in place. A thought crossed her mind, a realisation―Ana knew how to kill the Dybbuk.
“Hey!” she shouted, spinning on her heel to face the glassy beast “You missed me, idiot.”
The monster snarled and leaped at her, its claws primed. Ana leaped out of the way, and the Dybbuk slammed head first into the box in Bunkle's hands, smashing into a thousand pieces that clattered on the floor like a glittering rain.
Rafe stared at the shattered creature, its pieces sitting motionless on the floor, no sign of it putting itself back together.
“How did you know that would work?!”
“I didn't. . .” Ana confessed, picking herself up. “But if the box kept It trapped, made sense, right?”
Rafe smirked. She was smarter than him. Way smarter. He could picture himself wasting the whole damn day ducking and diving from the damn thing, destroying her house in the process, and never coming up with something so obvious to put it down for good.
The two of them turned to Bunkle, his limbs frozen in place, still clutching the box in his hands. Her magick was stronger than the hold that had been put on them at the Raven's Lodge. He couldn't move an inch, and certainly couldn't turn to mist as they had done to escape.
“You think you're clever, don't you?” he scoffed, though lips that could barely part.
“Clever enough to know Rafe's house is warded from your spying, but the street isn't. . .” Ana spat, smugly.
“You think I'm alone? That there aren't others working with me? Your grandmother's obstinate ways affected more than just your bloodline, it affected many of us. . . magick is an increasingly rare commodity these days because of people like her wanting to mate with the mundanes.”
“But she didn't 'mate with a mundane'. . .” Ana grunted. She wouldn't let him talk about her grandmother like that, as if she were cattle to be bred. “She had a child with someone better than you. And you've obviously spent decades building up this pathetic resentment, sitting on the sidelines all this time, unloved, unwanted, lusting after a geriatric. Jesus, what kind of man are you. . . Can't you just go on Tinder like everyone else?”
“Ha!” Bunkle scoffed. “You think that's what this was all about?! I had a child with her, you stupid little girl!”
Ana's lips parted, but she had no words. A realisation came over her. “You had a child. . .
but she didn't have magick in her blood... did she?” She found herself laughing uncontrollably. “My 'mother', right? And she's as mundane as they come. . . Must have made you feel pathetic, small, to realise that maybe you're more mundane than you thought? You figured you were something special, a pure blood or whatever. . . but when it came down to it, you were firing magickal blanks, and you've been spending fifty-some years trying to cover it up, in case, what? Your friends at the damn club ever found out?”
“Mundanes are an abhorrence to the damn world!” Bunkle grunted. “We used to live in a utopia before they propagated, spread their damn seed. . .”
“Do you know how Nazi-ish you sound right now?” Rafe asked. “It's really not a good look. . .” Then it was his turn to have a revelation, as he had been pulled into this whole damn mess by the very man Bunkle had sat down with in the Lodge. “Comstock is on your side with this. . . He gave you the damn box!”
“Ha! Played him for a fool,” Bunkle said, with a twisted smile, wider than before, he appeared to be regaining some control of his body. “Convinced the old bastard that it was for the greater good to wipe your bloodline out, that your mummy dearest had her eye on the throne. You should have seen how quickly he handed the box over at the mere notion of someone taking his position!”
“But he sent me after you. . .”
“Probably wanted to make sure I didn't take it too far. . . a contingency in case I decided to turn on him. Ha! As if I give a damn about power.”
“All you care about is power. . .” Rafe said. “You've literally done all this because you're jealous of another man siring children that have magick in their blood, with the same woman that you created a mundane.”
