Happy Medium: (Intermix)

by Meg Benjamin

He frowned. “What?”

  “Just a little schmutz.” She forced herself to smile, as she started to pull back again.

  He caught her hand, turning it to drop a kiss on the palm. “Thanks.”

  She nodded, licking her lips, then turned back toward the counter. Five days until Gabrielle arrived. Five more days until this was over.

  You knew that. You’ve always known that.

  True. But that didn’t make it any easier.

  ***

  Ray wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do once he finished prying off the wallboard in his former bedroom at the Hampton house. He couldn’t start on any kind of heavy carpentry until after Gabrielle DeVere and company finished their little séance caper. He might be able to start repairing the molding, but he wanted to use a crew for tacking up the new walls so it wouldn’t take as long as the removal had.

  He figured any crew work would have to wait until the filming was over. He didn’t like to think what would happen if his guys tried to work around a séance. And he didn’t like to think about what the ghost might decide to do if she found a bunch of men working in the rooms.

  Maybe he could haul junk to the dump for the rest of the time until the filming was over. Lord knew the storeroom would have to be cleaned out at some point. Although Emma’s whole gris-gris thing had made him think getting rid of the contents might not be quite as cut and dried as he’d assumed it would be.

  On the other hand, hauling away junk would mean Emma would be by herself in the house, or with Gabrielle DeVere in the house, which would be about as bad. He sighed. Unless he could take Emma with him, he wasn’t going anywhere.

  At least by the end of the week Gabrielle would be headed back to Houston, and out of his hair. Of course, when Gabrielle headed back to Houston, she’d probably take Emma with her. He paused, staring down at the pry bar. He wouldn’t be waking up with Emma anymore after the show finished filming.

  He blew out a breath, sliding the end of the bar under the edge of the wallboard. He’d always known she’d be leaving, hadn’t he? She was going to head back to Houston when this was over. Why had that fact slipped his mind? And why did it start this weird sort of ache in his gut? Houston wasn’t that far away—he could drive up for a weekend. She could come down here. They’d see each other.

  But it wouldn’t be the same. Not like it was now.

  He liked the way it was now.

  Quickly, he bore down on the pry bar to pop loose another piece of wallboard. No point in dwelling on the whole thing. He had work to do. Work had a way of keeping him from getting too hung up on things he couldn’t change, as well as things he could change.

  His cell phone vibrated against his thigh and he paused, glancing at the screen. Emma. He pulled down his dust mask as he put the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”

  “I found a table at the antique dealer’s place.” Her voice sounded tinny, as if the connection wasn’t that good. “He may be able to have it delivered today. Are you going to be around to let them in?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ve got stuff to do here.”

  “Great. I’ll try to set something up.”

  “Okay. I’ll . . . see you later.” Please.

  “Sure. Gotta go.”

  She disconnected and he stared at the phone for a moment before he slid it back into his pocket. Probably best not to think about changes right now unless he had some kind of plan. And planning had never been his strong suit.

  On the other hand, getting rid of the shitty wallboard was a change he could actually do something about right now. He pulled off his iPod earphones so that he could hear the doorbell and got back to work.

  Every so often during the afternoon he checked the front window, but no delivery trucks showed up. He thought about calling Emma as the day wore on but decided against it. She wasn’t in charge of the delivery schedule. And he didn’t want to start needing to hear the sound of her voice any more than he already did.

  While he worked, he ran through his mental checklists for the next few weeks. Sanding the floors downstairs could go on while they hung the new wallboard upstairs. Plus they’d need to replace a couple of windows in the living room and dining room where the wood was beginning to go. He’d have to see if he could salvage the casing and apron so the new windows would fit with the old. The damaged plaster medallion needed to be taken down and repaired. The chewed-up molding needed to be taken down and repaired. The wood paneling in the living room needed to be taken down and used for kindling.

  And he needed to find someone to check one window in the storeroom where he thought he might have seen some signs of carpenter ants. The house was certified for termites, but carpenter ants were separate. If he found them in one place, they’d need to inspect the wood for others.

  If only it was as easy to get rid of this annoying ghost infestation.

  He checked for delivery trucks again, then went on pulling wallboard, stacking it at the side, cleaning up what dust he could as he set up schedules in his mind. He realigned them as he mentally worked out the crew he’d need. They might be able to finish most of the heavy work by the end of the month if they worked dawn to dusk.

  Dusk. He paused in the act of fitting the pry bar behind another piece of board. How long had he been working while he waited for the delivery anyway?

  He stared out the window at the street, the shadows from the live oaks and pecans, the dimming light at the west.

  Twilight. Threshold time. Shit.

  He tossed the pry bar down and crossed the floor in two strides. If Emma came to meet him here, she’d walk in without a thought. He needed to get downstairs and preferably outside before she showed up.

  As he started to step into the hall, he paused. Something pale seemed to shimmer in the shadows at the end. He braced his hands on either side of the door, leaning forward cautiously while keeping his feet inside the warded room.

  A gray shape swirled in the shadows now—part of the darkness, part of the dim light. His eyes strained to make it out while his brain told him it was nothing, just a reflection from the hall window.

  Not nothing. Definitely not nothing.

  The light seemed to change as he watched, flickering dimly like the silhouette of a branch moving in the wind. It trembled, swirled, coalesced into a single column of gray that slowly, slowly became a dress, arms, shoulders, a head, a face.

  An oddly familiar face. He stared at the woman who drifted nearer as his pulse pounded in his ears. Her hair was parted down the middle, falling in soft curls around her ears, a thin braid thrown onto her shoulder. She had almond-shaped eyes that turned up slightly at the ends. Her generous lips spread in a faintly teasing smile.

  “Amina Becker,” he murmured, stepping back from the door. His palms felt damp. He wiped them across his thighs.

  “Finally, you’re here,” she purred, smiling from the shadows. “Why not come out in the hall with me? Or you could invite me in.” Something flickered behind her eyes for an instant, some kind of dark light. “We could have an interesting time together.”

  His jaw firmed. “Not a chance.”

  “Pity.”

  She moved closer, her body swaying slightly. The movement was sort of like Skag’s, but . . . not. He tried to think what it was she reminded him of. A doll maybe. Or a puppet.

  A puppet trying to mimic the way real humans moved. As if someone were trying on a body for size after a long time without one.

  His hands tightened on the sides of the doorframe again. “You’re not really Amina Becker, are you?”

  “I was.” Her lips moved into another slow smile. “For a while.”

  He managed to keep his voice level even as his throat tightened. “You possessed her?”

  She moved again, more smoothly now. Apparently she was learning how to be lifelike again. “Only when she wanted to be possessed. Such an ine
xperienced little thing. And she wanted to keep him. She was the housemaid. Fresh off the farm. He was her first. And her last, as it turned out.”

  Ray narrowed his eyes. “He seduced her.”

  Her shoulders moved slightly, a shrug or the semblance of one. “She wasn’t unwilling. But she wanted him to love her.” Her lips twisted as if she’d tasted something sour.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  He moved back as she came closer. He was fairly certain she couldn’t cross the wards he’d pounded into the doorframe, but he didn’t want to take a chance.

  She smiled mockingly, as if she’d noticed his retreat. “Livingston Grunewald couldn’t love anyone. He didn’t even love himself. She’d have been far better off to have just accepted that and used the sex. I gave her the power. She could have held him with that for as long as she wanted. She should have. That’s why she called me, after all.”

  “She called you? Conjured you?” He took a breath. Might as well try a little push. “Controlled you?”

  The black light flashed again behind Amina Becker’s sad eyes. “No one controls me. She wanted me to come to her. Once I’m called, I can’t be sent back. She wanted what I could provide. I gave it to her.”

  “And then you took her?”

  The shoulders moved again, more easily now, the human resemblance becoming more natural. “Every desire has a price. I gave her what she asked for, and she paid for her request.”

  Succubi have a talent for locating weaknesses. Oh yes. “And then you sucked her dry until she killed herself? Is that the way it worked?”

  Amina showed her teeth in a savage smile. “I didn’t kill her. I wouldn’t have wasted her energy. She still had years of power I could have used. He killed her.”

  “He drove her to suicide, you mean?”

  “No.” The smile became more like a snarl. “He strangled her, then made it look as if she’d hung herself. No one cared enough to find the truth.”

  Ray’s shoulders went taut. “Livingston killed Amina? Why?”

  “She frightened the stupid git. He wasn’t used to wanting anything that badly, needing it to live. I gave him delight, but he didn’t want delight. He wanted boredom, so long as he controlled the boredom. Still, he couldn’t bear to leave her, even with his father threatening them both. The only alternative he could see was to kill her, to end the hold she had over him.” Her lips moved into that mocking smile once again. “The fool didn’t understand that it wouldn’t stop with her death. Her hooks were sunk too deep in him.”

  Succubi have a talent for locating weaknesses.

  “Your hooks, you mean.” His jaw tightened again, remembering Livingston Grunewald, old and broken, come back to this room. Searching for what he could never have again.

  “Once you experience that kind of ecstasy, you’ll never forget it. Nor will you want to.” She dropped her fingers to the pearl buttons on the front of her gown, slipping them loose so that the bodice fell to her waist. Her breasts glowed white in the gathering darkness, tipped in rose. She pulled her hair loose from the braid, then moved her head, shaking the golden curls so that they fell over her naked shoulders in shining waves. “She was very beautiful,” she murmured. “After she became mine, she was very skillful as well. I can promise that you’ve never experienced anything like what she could do for you.”

  “Except you’re not her,” he snapped. “She’s a corpse and you’re an illusion.”

  “An illusion?” Her lips edged up again. “If I’m an illusion, why are you still cowering on the other side of the door? Why are you so afraid of me?” She pushed her hands down again and the dress fell to the floor, baring her long legs, the fullness of her hips, the nest of golden hair at the joining of her thighs. She reached a hand toward him. “Touch me. I’ll show you I’m no illusion.”

  He held himself still on the other side of the doorway. “No, thanks.”

  “Are you afraid you’re not strong enough to satisfy me? To satisfy her?” She ran her hands along the sides of her body, rubbing her thumbs across her nipples to make them peak.

  Ray was fairly certain he’d never be able to satisfy her—nobody could. And he’d die trying. Fortunately, he’d never seen a woman he wanted less than the semblance of Amina Becker who stood in front of him. “I’m not Livingston Grunewald. I don’t want you. If that’s all you need to know, I can tell you that.”

  “Really?” One golden eyebrow arched up. “Perhaps you don’t find her desirable.”

  “Perhaps I don’t. Or you either.”

  “That can be dealt with.” Her face began to shimmer, becoming indistinct, like a picture going out of focus, then her hair, her body.

  He watched, transfixed, as the body changed its shape, the hips becoming slimmer, the breasts less full. Her hair shortened, became a mop of red curls. Her skin lightened, milky white.

  His pulse sped up again. “Stop it.”

  The face began to gain shape, the nose becoming narrower, auburn eyebrows, full lips. And then the eyes, sky blue. Sapphire.

  Emma stood in front of him, skin slightly flushed, a fading blush at the cheekbones.

  He held onto the sides of the door so tightly his fingers felt numb. “You’re not her.”

  “But I could be,” the succubus murmured. “I could be just like her, only I would know things she doesn’t know. She’s so inexperienced, poor thing. Like Amina in a way. And so . . . uncertain. With me, you could have her do things she’s never done for you, things she never could do. And she’d be willing. So willing. So eager.”

  The lips, so unnervingly like Emma’s, moved up into a slightly feline smile. “Fuck me, Ray,” Emma’s voice said. “Do it from behind. I’ve never done it that way before, but I want you to do it to me now. I’ll suck your cock, and I’ll do it right this time. You can come in my mouth—I’ll swallow it all, I promise.”

  His stomach tightened. He tasted bile in his throat. Emma’s eyes shining, Emma’s lips moving. Emma’s voice saying words he didn’t want to hear. He needed to turn away, but that would mean the succubus had won.

  “You can come on my breasts,” she cooed, “or my face, I don’t care, whatever you want. However you want. I want you to tie me up and then fuck me blind. I want you to do things you’ve only heard about—blindfolds and gags, nipple clamps and riding crops. Whipping posts. All of it. I want you to do all of it to me. I’ll come for you whatever you do. However you want to do it. And you’ll come too. I promise. Like you’ve never come before.”

  He tightened his jaw for a moment, staring at her sky blue eyes. Her empty sky blue eyes.

  “Watch me,” she whispered. “Just watch me now.” Her fingers dropped to her sex, parting the lips, plunging inside. “Watch me come.”

  “It’s not her body,” he blurted.

  The succubus paused, blue eyes staring. “What?”

  “It’s not her body. You got the body wrong.”

  “What does it matter?” she snarled, her voice no longer Emma’s. “It’s her face. It’s her voice. She’s asking you to do things the real woman couldn’t ask for. Things she can’t do for you. This body is better than hers. You can do anything you want to it, and she’ll beg for more.” She cupped the breasts that weren’t Emma’s, opening those empty blue eyes wide.

  He shook his head. “That’s not what I want.”

  “Tell me what you want,” Emma’s voice crooned again. “Just tell me what you want. And I’ll do it.”

  “I want the real Emma any way she’ll have me. Missionary position in total darkness is fine. What I don’t want is you, a miserably unconvincing puppet.” He turned his back on her and walked deeper into the bedroom.

  “Coward,” she snarled, her voice rising. “Coward. You’re afraid to see what you want, how it might feel for you. You’re afraid to take what you need.”

  “Actually,
I’m done with this.” He stooped over his workspace, gathering up a handful of nails. “Give it up, demon. You’re not getting me this way.”

  She backed away from the door, Emma’s mouth curving up in a mocking smile. “Nails? Really? You think nails can stop me?”

  “They may not stop you, but I’ll bet they sting.”

  He paused in mid-stride. Somewhere downstairs he heard a sound. The front door opening.

  The succubus narrowed her eyes, her form already becoming blurred.

  “Ray?” Emma’s voice sounded up the stairs. “I saw your truck outside. Are you still here? The delivery got rescheduled until tomorrow.”

  For a moment, he saw Amina Becker’s face again, her expression triumphant. And then she was gone, melting into the darkness.

  “Emma,” Ray cried. “Sweet Jesus, Emma, no. Get away from here.” He headed for the stairs, wondering if he could actually jump down from the top without killing himself.

  Chapter 19

  Emma stared up into the gathering darkness at the top of the stairs. She really didn’t like this place. It looked creepier than usual in the lengthening twilight, maybe because of the shadows in the corners. She didn’t often come to the house this late in the afternoon. Neither did Ray. Maybe he’d just left his truck for some reason. If he wasn’t here, she could take off for Rosie’s place. “Ray?” she called. “I saw your truck outside. Are you still here? The delivery got rescheduled until tomorrow.”

  A board creaked overhead. Her hand flew to her throat. Probably just Ray coming to the head of the stairs. She stayed where she was, gazing up into the darkness. “Ray? Are you there?”

  “Emma.”

  She turned quickly, peering into the shadows behind her. He stood in the doorway to the dining room, his face in deep shadow so that she could only see the silhouette of his body. “Ray?”

  “Emma. Baby.”

  Baby? That was new. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see him better in the dim light. He reached toward her, and she found herself moving back slightly. Something about his voice didn’t sound right. And he moved . . . not like he usually did.