Happy Medium: (Intermix)

by Meg Benjamin

  “Get her out of here,” he grated. “Go on, Emma. Get her out of here. Now.”

  The succubus moved toward him swiftly, her shape becoming slightly blurred around the edges. Emma grabbed Gabrielle by the arm and jerked her through the other door to the hall.

  “Let me go. How dare you!” Gabrielle snapped. “I told you I wasn’t leaving until I got an explanation.”

  Emma paid no attention, dragging her down the hall toward the front door. For once she was glad she still outweighed her employer by a few pounds. She threw open the door, then pushed Gabrielle through. “Go. Now. Don’t come back until it’s daylight, and maybe not even then. I’ll get you some candles back in Houston. And another water carafe. But you have to get away from here now. It’s dangerous.”

  Gabrielle turned, her eyes blazing. She looked a little like a succubus herself. “This is the last straw. Absolutely the last. You’re fired, Emma. Don’t even bother coming back to the studio. And any reference I gave you would be lukewarm at best, so don’t bother asking for that either.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever. No problem.” Emma slammed the door in her face, then raced back up the hall to the dining room.

  Ray was struggling in the center of the room, his hands on the succubus’s arms, trying to push her away. She clung to him in a parody of desire, her arms wrapped around his neck, one leg stroking his as she tried to pull him back.

  Emma’s shoulders clenched tight—the succubus still looked exactly like her, only she’d dispensed with her clothes. Her naked thighs flexed as she rubbed herself against his groin, her breasts trembling as she breathed, nipples drawn to sharp points. Her smile was a grimace of seduction, and her sharp teeth were bared for combat, as red curls swirled around her face. She opened her mouth wide, bringing her teeth toward his throat.

  “No,” Emma cried. “Leave him alone!”

  “Emma, get out,” Ray gasped, twisting to avoid the teeth. He swung his arm up to push the succubus away, but she evaded him easily.

  She wrapped herself more securely against his body, smiling. He writhed, trying to free himself and dodge her gaping mouth.

  Emma’s heart thumped hard against her breastbone.

  She glanced around the room desperately, looking for anything that could serve as a weapon. If she could just get in a single blow, maybe Ray could run for the door before the succubus recovered.

  He stumbled backward toward the wall, the succubus wrapping her arms more tightly around his neck. Emma heard him gasp as sharp nails grazed his cheek.

  She grabbed a piece of the broken furniture left over from the succubus’s temper tantrum and brought it down hard against its shoulders. Her own shoulders. Pain sliced through her, but she ignored it. It’s an illusion, idiot. It’s not you.

  The succubus’s head turned, lips pulled back in a grimace, teeth suddenly more like fangs. She slashed her nails in Emma’s direction.

  “Emma,” Ray cried again, “get out!”

  Emma swung her club up, catching the succubus on the side of her shoulder as she heard splintering glass behind her.

  And the succubus froze in place.

  For a moment, everything else seemed frozen too. Emma glanced backward over her shoulder. She’d shattered the glass over the hair flower wreath on her upswing.

  The hair flower wreath. Hair.

  She threw the club to the floor and yanked the wreath from its frame.

  Behind her she heard a feral growl, like a wild animal. She ran toward the fireplace without looking back. Her fingers fastened on the lighter resting on the mantel just as something sharp slashed through the back of her blouse, leaving streaks of fire.

  “No!” Ray cried.

  She heard more crashing behind her, more snarling. Her back stung, but she managed to keep her hands working, fumbling with the lighter, flicking the switch until it finally caught, then bringing the flame to the hair as the crashing behind her reached a crescendo, along with Ray’s shouts.

  Flames flickered around the edge of the wires as the hair slowly caught. She tossed the burning wreath into the fireplace, stepping to the side as the succubus broke away from Ray to grab at her again, and then to grab at the rising flames.

  The smell of burning hair filled the room, and the succubus shrieked.

  Emma fell back against Ray, grasping his hand as she kept her gaze fastened on the woman who looked so much like her but absolutely wasn’t.

  The succubus’s lips twisted upward, thinning, disappearing, the teeth sharpening, yellowing. Her arms elongated, skin shrinking, skeletal, her nails real talons now. Skin disintegrated in patches, bones shone white, her teeth spread again in a silent cry. The face turned to a skull, the eyes alone remaining, dull black, staring, burning, as the hair shriveled to ashes. Death stood watching them for another second.

  And then it was gone.

  “Holy fucking crap,” Ray whispered.

  Emma slumped back against him, trying to catch her breath, her muscles suddenly gone slack. Her heart pounded so fast she was afraid she might faint.

  Ray reached down, looping an arm beneath her knees to draw her up against his chest. She wound her arms around his neck, letting him take her weight. He turned to stride out of the room and down the hall, heading swiftly for the front door.

  She rested her suddenly heavy head against his chest, trying to catch her breath again. “Where are we going?”

  “Away from here. Very far away from here.”

  “Works for me,” she mumbled, closing her eyes to let exhaustion take her.

  ***

  “Emma.” Ray struggled to keep his voice calm. “Emma, you need to wake up now.”

  Her eyes fluttered for a moment, then closed, then opened. “Ray? Where are we?”

  “Rosie’s.” He touched her hair carefully. He had to restrain himself from pulling her into his arms again. Considering the condition of her back, doing that might hurt her. He pushed a pillow under her head instead. “I need to clean up your back. That thing got you good when you were trying to set the wreath on fire.”

  “What?” She blinked again as if she still wasn’t entirely awake, staring around the bedroom a little blearily.

  His shoulders tightened, but he fought down the panicky feeling in his gut. “The succubus,” he said patiently. “It scratched your back while you were trying to burn the wreath. You’re hurt.” His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he bit down hard again. What if its claws had venom? What if she’s been poisoned?

  She frowned slightly. “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  She nodded. “It got you too, near your eyebrow.”

  He turned toward the mirror. Blood beaded from a line of scratches on the side of his face. He touched it, wincing slightly “Not much to it.” Not nearly as much as the scratches on Emma’s back, for instance.

  Her lips firmed. “Whatever you do for me, you need to do for yourself. Or I’ll do it for you.” She started to push herself upright. “Have you got any disinfectant?”

  “I’ll check. Stay down.” He patted her on the shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way, then strode quickly down the hall to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet held a complete collection of hair products, a box of bandages, and one slightly ancient-looking bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Beggars can’t be choosers. He grabbed it along with a box of gauze and headed back to the bedroom.

  Emma was standing with her back to the mirror, inspecting the long bloody scratches across her shoulders. Her shredded blouse lay on the floor along with her bra. “Good thing I hated this blouse anyway. Geez, it’s like she had claws.”

  He gritted his teeth, fighting down that same impulse to take her into his arms. “She did. She was like some kind of animal at the end, when she saw you with that wreath in your hand. It did something to her.” He tore off a piece of gauze and soaked it in p
eroxide. “Sit down. This may hurt some. I’m sorry.”

  She sank down on the bed again, grimacing as he blotted the gauze across the first scratch. “Oh Lord, you’re right. That really, really hurts.”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I think you need to have these cleaned up, though. You might need stitches. Santa Rosa Hospital’s not far from here. We should head to the emergency room.”

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. Can you imagine trying to explain how I got scratches like these to some emergency room doctor? Particularly since you’re all beat up too. They’re liable to think we’ve been in a fight—possibly with each other. I’ll be okay.” She took the gauze out of his hand. “Now you.”

  He endured having his own scratches dealt with, then touched another piece of gauze to the next scratch on her back as she winced. Best to get her thinking about something else. “How did you know it was the wreath?”

  “Her reaction when I broke the glass. She looked like she’d been shot. And it all clicked.”

  “What all clicked?”

  “The whole thing about the love token. I mean, it was a token of Livingston, not from him. All that stuff about voodoo, about taking something from the person you wanted to cast a spell on, something like a lock of hair. Livingston’s hair. It seemed like the right thing for the succubus to be bound to. Maybe Amina wove it into the flowers on the wreath, so that she’d have it nearby.”

  “All those years. Nobody ever threw the wreath away or broke the glass or did anything to it. The succubus was lucky.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe she was able to keep people away from it. Maybe she had some kind of power over it, over what people did with it.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  He grimaced as Emma touched the peroxide to his scratches again. “It sure as hell wasn’t anything I wanted to have around. Even if we hadn’t found out about it tonight, I’d have thrown it away.”

  “Yeah, me too. But throwing it away might not have been enough. Maybe it had to be completely destroyed like we did tonight.” She rubbed a hand across her face. “I don’t know. I’m really tired.”

  His hand tightened on her shoulder. “Emma, are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? I’d feel better if I could take you to a doctor.” Not that a doctor would know much about supernatural poisons. He began to fold another piece of gauze to place it over the scratches.

  “I’m sure. I’m just normal tired, not poisoned-apple-in-Snow-White tired. If I’m sick tomorrow, we can go. I promise.”

  He paused, pressing a piece of tape along the edge of the pad. “If I’m real careful, can I put my arms around you for a second? I need to hold you, Em. It’s killing me not to.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath, then pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Please,” she murmured. “Oh please do.”

  He wound one arm around her waist, careful not to press against the scratches, then leaned his head against hers, stroking her hair. “Jesus, Emma. Sweet Jesus. You almost scared the life out of me.”

  “You scared me first. It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m okay. You’re okay. It’s over.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured, willing it to be true. “It’s over. Now you need to sleep.”

  An hour later, he lay beside her in the darkened room, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. He had to keep telling himself not to touch her, not to hold her—she needed her sleep. Watching her helped—at least it reminded him she was alive and well, lying close beside him. He seemed to be having a reaction that was the exact opposite of hers. She was exhausted, and he was sleepless.

  “Riordan!”

  He wasn’t entirely surprised to hear Skag’s voice. He figured it would be either him or Great-grandma Siobhan, and of the two he sort of preferred Skag. Either way, he wasn’t in the mood for cryptic messages from the beyond.

  He slid carefully out of bed, although Emma was sleeping so soundly he was fairly certain she wouldn’t be aware of anything he did. As he came down the stairs, he saw Skag bobbing in the doorway to the living room, his cigarette holder clamped jauntily in his teeth.

  “You’ve had a busy night. I’m amazed you’re not fast asleep in your trundle bed.”

  “If I were asleep, you’d just wake me up.” Ray walked past him into the living room, managing not to grit his teeth. “Do you have something to tell me, or did you just call me downstairs to gloat?”

  Skag moved to the fireplace, tapping his ashes onto the hearth. “I came to offer you my congratulations on the successful completion of your task. It isn’t everyone who can destroy a succubus. It shows you’re a true Riordan.”

  “Technically, Emma destroyed it. Or we destroyed it together.” Ray sank down on the couch, resting his head against the back. “So she’s really gone? No more accidentally reviving her?”

  “Definitely gone.” Skag nodded decisively. He glanced at a large black lump in front of the fireplace. “If only other things were as easy to dismiss.”

  Helen, the black lump in question, gave him a doggy grin of greeting.

  “Maybe Helen will come back to this dimension once Rosie and Evan are here.”

  “One can only hope,” Skag muttered sourly. “As I was saying, you destroyed the object to which the succubus was attached. Which puts you one up on your great-grandmother, who could never deduce what that particular object was.” He frowned, staring at the tip of his cigarette. “Of course, technically neither could you. Ms. Shea gets the honors for that. You simply trapped the succubus in the dining room. Helpful, but not ultimately what destroyed her.”

  “That thing scratched her,” Ray cut in. “Scratched Emma. Me too, in fact. Is it dangerous?” Helen rolled to her feet, suddenly watchful. Maybe her guard dog abilities had been activated.

  Skag frowned. “It’s no doubt painful, but the fact that the succubus in question is now deceased will keep it from being much more than that.”

  Ray’s jaw went tight. “Is there something I should do to help her?”

  “There’s always aspirin. I suggest downing it with Scotch, but she might prefer white wine.” He sighed. “The younger generation is sadly uninformed about the pleasures of strong drink. I assume you don’t need any particular assistance yourself.”

  Ray shook his head impatiently. “You’re saying she’s safe?”

  “Safe enough. Both of you. Ms. Shea will have a sore back, but she should be all right in the long run.”

  Helen, apparently reassured, began to sniff at Skag’s shoes. He quickly floated away from her.

  “The succubus is dead, Emma’s all right.” Ray rubbed his burning eyes. “Why exactly are you here, Skag? That’s pretty much the end of it, right?”

  “I’m here to answer any last lingering questions you may have. The destruction of the succubus made it possible for me to track down a great deal of previously unavailable information.” Skag arched an eyebrow, directing a withering glance in Helen’s direction. “If only it were as easy to divest myself of this ridiculous beast.”

  Ray shrugged. “Can’t help you there.”

  Skag sighed, then tapped some ashes into his ashtray. “You had an encounter with a succubus. You should have one or two things you need to settle for yourself. Isn’t that the case?”

  Ray slumped back against the couch again. “Okay. The hair wreath.”

  “What about it?”

  “Was it Livingston’s hair?”

  Skag nodded. “Miss Becker apparently used hair from both Grunewald and herself in creating it. She brought a lock of his hair to a member of the McSwain clan who then called up the succubus.”

  Ray leaned forward again. “Who are the McSwain clan?”

  “Various families have various specialties.” Skag leaned back against the mantel, blowing a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. “
The McSwain family specialized in succubi and incubi—the male form, although you had one who was able to move back and forth between the genders. Somewhat rare, I understand.”

  “So Amina knew she was asking for a succubus?”

  Skag shook his head. “Of course not. If it had been explained, I doubt very much she would have agreed. She thought she was buying a love spell of some sort that would bind her lover to her. Unfortunately for her, the succubus gradually possessed her as she worked her wiles on Grunewald, and then Grunewald killed her in an effort to free himself. Not a happy result at all.”

  A major understatement. “And Great-grandma Siobhan tried to drive out the succubus after that?”

  “She did.” Skag shrugged. “She couldn’t destroy it completely without the binding object. But she could lessen its power. That, of course, is what Riordans do.”

  “What we do?” Ray narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “As I said, every family had its own specialty. Your family’s specialty is fighting the Old Ones—the ones that go bad, that is. The succubus was one of them. And after Siobhan succeeded in binding it for almost a century, you successfully drove it off. With the not inconsiderable help of Ms. Shea.” He stared pensively at the ceiling. “So far as I know, the Shea family has no particular powers. It would be interesting to know what Ms. Shea’s other family names might be. Perhaps you could ask her.”

  Ray gritted his teeth. “Perhaps I won’t. Thanks for the information.” He pushed himself to the front of the couch. “I’m headed back to bed.”

  Helen sat up again, her tail thumping heavily on the hearth. Ray really hoped she wasn’t planning on coming with him. He wasn’t interested in sharing his bedroom with a hellhound at the moment.

  “You do know there’s no going back, don’t you?” Skag said quietly.

  “No going back to what?” Ray paused, trying to sound casual.

  “No going back to what you were before you knew all of this.” Skag gestured around the room. “Before you knew you were a Riordan—and what that meant. Before you knew about the members of your family. All the members of your family, including my humble self.”