The Devil You Know

by Richard Levesque

  When he suddenly stirred, she took a step back and cursed herself for failing to bring her notes from home. Whatever Laura had injected her with now made Jasper’s exorcism prayer a vague memory. The intoxication seemed not to be getting any worse, which she was thankful for, and she surmised that Laura might not have had the chance to give her the full dose. Sober or not, though, she knew she had to do something while the thing before her was still knocked out.

  The second candle was burning on a small dresser beside the bed, and Marie set the candle she carried beside it. Then she took a deep breath. “I cast you out,” she said haltingly, holding a palm over the thing’s chest. Her voice seemed to come from far away, and she still felt dizzy. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “I cast you out,” she repeated a little more certain of herself, “in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the—”

  The incubus opened its eyes and stared at her. “Who the hell are you?” he said, his voice more slurred than hers. “What the hell is going on?”

  Marie felt powerless, watching as the man on the bed struggled against the ropes. Then in an instant a new clarity came into his eyes; it was as though every trace of drugs in his system had suddenly vanished. Where he had looked strong and vibrant while unconscious, now the figure on the bed looked like a demi-god. If Marie had had any doubts about the truth of Colin’s story or the true nature of the men from Piedmont’s, what he did next erased those thoughts forever. As she began trying to say the exorcism prayer again, he said, “Cut that shit out,” his voice now clear, his tongue no longer slowed by the drug. In the same instant, his hands were freed from the ropes. One second he was bound, and the next he was loose, and in the moment of his liberation, Marie could have sworn that she saw his hands elongate to slip out of the knots.

  Her mouth dropped open, and she took a step back as the demon sat up on the bed. He looked at her not with confusion or annoyance now, but with a blend of anger and desire. With the same momentary shift in his anatomy, he freed his feet and leaped from the bed, clearing the space between himself and Marie before she could even see that he was moving. The thing’s penis had been flaccid while he lay tied to the bed, but now it, too, had come to life, and Marie had no doubt as to his intentions.

  With the same fury that she had fought off Laura’s attack, she swung a fist at the creature’s face, but his reflexes were faster, and he effortlessly grabbed her wrist and held her forearm in the air for a moment before twisting it down. Marie tried to steady herself to kick him, but he was pushing her backwards, toward the wall, and she felt herself beginning to lose her balance. He reached one hand out to the collar of her blouse and ripped it downward, the cloth tearing easily in his grip.

  Then, as her fury was giving itself over to panic, Marie saw a change in his expression, a sudden look of alarm, his eyes focused on her chest. For a second, she thought his crazed look meant a heightened lust in the creature, but it was fear he looked at her with, not desire. And then she understood: the monster had seen the cross Jasper had given her. She had worn it every day since, its leather thong long enough for her to conceal it beneath her clothing. Now she realized it might save her, and the panic she’d been on the verge of moments before turned to hope.

  For a second, the demon’s expression changed to one of amusement, as though he realized that a simple wooden cross could not do him any harm, but when Marie quickly grabbed it and pressed it against his wrist, the monster let out a shout and instantly let go of her arm.

  “Bitch!” he spat out as he backed away toward the bed.

  Acting only on instinct, Marie advanced on him, holding the cross before her like a shield. “I cast you out!” she began again, but was once more stopped, this time by a blow from the side that knocked her to the ground. It took a second to realize that Laura had regained consciousness and bolted across the room to stop Marie from further damaging her lover.

  When Laura tackled her, Marie hit the floor hard, knocking her head against it. For a few seconds the already darkened room grew dimmer, and she thought that she was about to pass out, Laura Tremaine still lying on top of her where the pair had fallen. Then she felt Laura starting to get off of her; at the same time, the sensation of slipping into unconsciousness left her. Instead of passing out, she held onto her attacker, trying to lock her arms around the other woman to keep her from getting away. Then she sensed movement above her, and saw that the incubus was scrambling to get up from the bed where he had fallen when Laura attacked. For a moment, he stood over the two struggling women, and then he turned and ran from the apartment, still nude.

  “No!” Laura shrieked, and with an effort that surprised Marie she jerked herself free of Marie’s grip and tore out of the apartment after him.

  Breathing hard, Marie lay on the floor for several seconds, almost overcome with disgust. She had been an idiot to fall into such a trap, she told herself. If she had only thought to bring her notes with her, she could have said the exorcism prayer, and the demon would be gone. As it was, he was no doubt racing back to Julian’s now with his crazy lover chasing after him. Marie hoped that a naked man wouldn’t get too far on the streets of Hollywood, but she also knew now that he could change his shape, if only a little, and she would not have been surprised to learn that he had transformed himself into a dog or a coyote—anything that could move through the night without clothing and not draw attention to itself.

  Sitting up, she tried to check herself for damage. She felt sore where Laura had crashed into her, and her hand still ached from punching Laura in the face, but she seemed otherwise all right. Pulling the torn flap of her blouse up and across her chest, she slowly got to her feet, still feeling unsteady. The adrenaline coursing through her must have counteracted some of the drug, but not enough to leave her feeling completely sober. She let herself get used to being on two feet again and then turned on a lamp. Blowing out the candles, she took a moment to look around the apartment now that she was alone in it.

  It was impossible to know how long Laura Tremaine had held the thing captive here, but Marie surmised that it could not have been long. She found eight spent syrettes in a wastebasket by the bed along with two empty cans of beans. A pot with some beans still in it sat on a hotplate across the room, and Marie imagined Laura feeding the thing in its stupor. There was no other food in the apartment, though, and the two would have needed to eat more if they had both been here for long. Marie doubted that Laura would have left to get more to eat with her prize still in the room and unattended. She supposed that Laura could have been able to have sex with the incubus in its drugged state, but she would have needed to keep administering drugs to have prevented it from slipping out of its bonds as it had done when Marie had approached. What the foolish woman could have had for long range plans, Marie could not guess; all she knew for sure was that she had somehow been intended as part of those plans, perhaps as a sacrifice or an offering to appease the monster and keep it here, well supplied with women.

  She shook her head as she went slowly toward the door, deliberately placing her feet as she went and bending slowly to retrieve her purse from the floor. Nothing about this was rational, she thought, and it occurred to her that perhaps Laura’s brand of insanity and Elise’s were just variations on each other. It was as though the demons left just pieces of the women behind when they were finished with them. The part of Laura it had left was still able to function physically, but her mind was shattered.

  When she got into the hallway, she thought she saw movement from the doorway of Mrs. Thomas’ apartment, as though the door had been open just a sliver and now closed all the way once someone had entered the hall. Party’s over, Mrs. Thomas, Marie thought. Go back to bed. She pulled Laura Tremaine’s door closed behind her and made her way out to the street. The hill looked incredibly steep now, and she was sorry she had parked so far up it. With a sigh, she started walking, sure that she looked drunk as she weaved her way toward her car. She would sit in it and maybe sleep un
til the dizziness left her altogether and then drive home, wishing all the while that she could have Tom sitting beside her as the night drew on into morning.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  This must be what it’s like when humans lose their minds, thought Malliol as he stood trembling beside the large potted fern near the entrance to the Brown Derby. Big cars with their headlights blazing drove up and down the street, some slowing near the restaurant as drivers and passengers gawked to see if someone famous were coming or going. When they saw Malliol, many pointed, but he turned his gaze to the ground and waited for them to second-guess themselves and move on.

  The only thing that stifled the voices now was intoxication. He had just had eight Gibsons in the Derby while watching the beautifully dressed women walk back and forth past his seat. He found it a relief when he saw they had escorts, since the accompanied ones were safe from him. More importantly, he was safe from them; they would never end up in his head the way all the others had. There were dozens of them now, and he feared they were taking over.

  At times, he forgot who he was or why he was here. An attractive, single woman would approach him, saying he looked like Cagney, and rather than take the opportunity to start a conversation that would get her into bed, he would stare blankly at her, more focused on the women in his mind, who seemed more real than the flesh and blood ones in his grasp.

  He still needed the bodies of living women, still needed to join with them and draw their energy into himself, but he could get by on fewer conquests now. And these days he chose his victims not based on their looks or their bodies or on how delicious it would be to corrupt them, but rather on how much he thought he would be able to stand them joining the rest of the chorus.

  More often than not, they replayed memories from their former lives or recited their portion of conversations they’d had in the past. This was quite aggravating because it was all so disjointed, completely without context for Malliol. And when there were several dozen of these that he could hear distinctly at the same time, it was more than he could stand. This was his normal state of affairs, eased only by drink.

  Sometimes, though, one of the women would assert herself, her voice rising above the others, and she would seem to be looking through Malliol’s eyes, questioning how she had gotten here, what she was doing chasing after other women, why her hands touched them so, and how in the world she had gotten a penis. There were three or four of these who seemed to rise up most often, making him feel like he was sinking into a whirlpool, watching helplessly as the circle of light that was his sanity shrank further and further away. This was when Malliol drank the most.

  He lived in fear of having such an episode around one of his compatriots or during the wee hours of the night when he and the others felt most compelled to be back at the mansion. If they found out, they would cast him out. He knew it. To keep them from finding out, he had to at least act like he was prowling for women, but he spent most of each day just trying to hide—from his desires, from the other incubi, and from the women he had already consumed.

  Earlier today, he had tried going to a movie, and for a while it had worked. He had sat in the dark and watched the story, amused at the petty dramas the humans found so fascinating. No one in the audience could know that he shook most of the time, nor could they know when he was finding himself overtaken by one of his past victims. By the time the same double-bill had started for the third time, he had been unable to stand it any more and had gone to the Derby to drink and possibly find a woman to satisfy his growing urge.

  It was almost midnight, and he stood outside the restaurant, wondering if he should try to find a prostitute. It would be unsatisfying; however, nothing had actually satisfied him in quite some time. But then three women walked past him, the doors of the Derby closing behind them as they came out onto the street. They were chattering in French. Tourists, Malliol thought.

  Their words meant nothing to him, and all he could think about was how nice it would be to have voices in another language inside his head. One of these women would suit his needs just fine this evening, but he would have all three of them if need be.

  He fell into step behind them, assuming they were heading toward one of the nicer hotels for the night. He hoped they liked James Cagney. It would make things so much easier.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The day after Jasper’s funeral, Marie went back to St. Lucy’s for the first time since Jasper’s death. His service had been simple—a few words spoken by a minister followed by internment in one of the large mausoleums at the Hollywood Cemetery. The only other mourners besides Tom and Marie were people who had been regular customers at the bookstore. During the service, Marie had tried to focus on what was happening and on being strong for Tom, but she was still bruised—both physically and emotionally—from her ordeal with Laura Tremaine and her captive lover. She had not told Tom anything about the incident, knowing it would only give him one more thing to worry about. She also knew that if he got a sense of how dangerous the game of incubus baiting was, he would do everything he could to keep her from going after Piedmont and his monsters.

  Though still preoccupied with the demons and what to do about them, she arrived at work the next day ready to resume her duties, walking into the office and setting her purse on her desk. On the drive this morning, she had considered going against Jasper’s wishes and taking Father Joe into her confidence. With Jasper gone, it might be necessary for her to have an expert on things spiritual in her corner. She felt certain that Father Joe would keep her secret if she explained to him the necessity of keeping Julian Piedmont from discovering her plans. However, she had not yet made up her mind when she walked into the office.

  “Good morning, Father Joe,” she called in the direction of his inner office, as she always did.

  “Marie?” came the reply. He sounded surprised to find her back at work, and when he poked his head out of his office, she was equally surprised at his appearance. Always neat but in a casual way, this morning the priest looked tired and disheveled. His black shirt and pants were rumpled, as though he had slept in them or else had worn them several days in a row. He usually kept what was left of his hair neatly combed, but today tufts of it stood out from his scalp, making him look like he had just woken up. Looking closer, Marie saw that he had missed a day or two of shaving, and he had circles under his eyes.

  “Father Joe!” Marie said, alarmed. “Is everything all right?”

  Her question seemed to catch him off guard, and he quickly ran his hands through his hair, saying, “I’ve been a bit ill, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh! You should have called me. I would have been glad to have come back sooner.”

  He waved a hand and smiled. “No, no. Not necessary. Just a little bug. You had your own needs to consider. I’m fine, really.” He nodded at her, and she saw that as he spoke he began to seem more and more like his old self.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better now,” she said.

  She walked around her desk and prepared to sit down, but Father Joe held up a hand to stop her. “Marie, I wasn’t sure when you were coming back.” Then he looked at the floor and said, “Perhaps you should take a few more days. You’ve had quite a shock.”

  Startled, Marie said, “But I’m fine, really.”

  “I’ll pay your wages as usual. You needn’t worry about that. Just take care of yourself.”

  Confused, Marie wondered if there wasn’t more to the priest’s illness than he was letting on. “Honestly, Father, I’m ready to come back to work.”

  “But I’m not ready to have you back.” He said it so sharply that Marie gave a little gasp, as though he had physically struck her. She had never seen him lose his patience before, and certainly not with her, but his face revealed a growing anger now, if only for a moment or two. Then he seemed to remember himself and forced a smile that was clearly meant to be reassuring. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve had a difficult few days myself. What I meant
to say was that I need a bit of time alone. I’m going to take some time off. The diocese is sending someone out to cover Mass on Sunday and Confessions on Saturday. We’ll be back to business as usual come Monday next. All right?”

  “All right.” She tried to sound sincere when she said it, but a sense of doubt filled her, and she felt certain that Father Joe knew it. Still, her acquiescence seemed to please him, and a more sincere smile spread across his face now.

  “Good, child,” he said. “Good.” He turned back into his office and then said, “Now, I’ll just go back to my…” The sentence faded into nothingness, as though he had forgotten what he meant to get back to. “You take care, and I’ll see you next week then.” Without another word, he turned and closed the door to his office, leaving Marie alone.

  Dumbfounded, she gathered her purse and left the office. Immediately, she thought the worst, telling herself that the little illness he had mentioned was actually something life threatening. It would be like him, she knew, to keep secret from her and his superiors something as serious as cancer or heart trouble. He would not want anyone fussing over him.

  Passing through the chapel, she stopped to kneel in one of the pews and say a quick prayer for Father Joe’s health. High on the wall in front of her, the chapel’s gold crucifix portrayed Christ in serene suffering, and as she finished her prayer with the sign of the cross, Marie asked herself, not for the first time, if she was doing the right thing. She supposed she should pray on the issue, asking for divine guidance now that both Jasper and Father Joe were unavailable to offer help of any kind. But the thought of asking God or His Son for help hunting and destroying sexually voracious demons struck her as so absurd that she could not bring herself to offer up a prayer of any kind. She would have to do without that sort of guidance, she told herself, and got up to leave the chapel.