Blood of the Succubus

by McGeary, Duncan

  THE MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL MURDERS

  Blood of the Succubus

  Duncan McGeary

  Copyright 2016 Duncan McGeary

  Chapter 1

  Doug loved Suzanne’s sense of whimsy, her uncanny ability to discern the creatures in the rocks and the trees. They were climbing the steep trail up Horse Ridge, she bouncing ahead while he chuffed and huffed behind. She warned him about the ogre hiding in the juniper overhanging the cliff, the dragon in the crumbled lava rocks.

  “Watch out for the lizard, Doug,” she sang as he stepped over the root of a scraggly pine tree. Looking down, startled, he saw the lizard’s head and the tail, and a thrill ran up his spine, as if the root was about to come alive and bite him in the nuts.

  He laughed, amazed by Suzanne’s ability to bring everything and anything alive.

  She was too good to be true.

  The anticipation was so sweet. She was going to give herself to him. She’d not said so, but he knew—he could tell. He never wanted to press—never wanted to be that guy—and yet, she responded. She listened to his stories. She asked the right questions. She laughed at his jokes. Really laughed.

  She complimented him, she flattered him, she encouraged him. It was all just too good to be true. He knew that. He figured there’d be a reckoning, but he didn’t care. Let the reckoning come, as long as he could have her for these few sweet days and weeks.

  Why she’d chosen him, Doug couldn’t understand and was afraid to ask. It was enough that she was with him on this beautiful fall day, hiking the mountain trails near Bend, Oregon, turning her head every so often to beam at him.

  They climbed high into the foothills. They came to a clearing and looked back, hand in hand. The landscape of the High Desert opened up below them in all its beauty.

  The canyons below were filled with juniper trees, sagebrush, dust, pumice, and black lava, stretching all the way to Bend. There, along the Deschutes River, the terrain shifted to foothills and pine forests. On the horizon beyond floated the Three Sisters and Broken Top, all snow-capped peaks in the volcanic Cascade Range. The atmosphere was so clear and brisk that even the shining white peak of Mt. Hood was visible, more than 150 miles away.

  Suzanne sensed that Doug was tiring, using the excuse of the panorama to stop and rest. He flopped down next to the trail, so weary that he didn’t care that the soft, sandy soil was spilling into his shoes and pockets. But Suzanne couldn’t be contained and wandered off the trail, tiptoeing up to the edge of a small cliff.

  Doug felt himself tensing up. He took a long breath. It was all right. She wasn’t going to fall; it was OK to stray from the path a little. She was so alive that even if she did fall, she’d probably just fly away.

  As tired as he was, he was also the thinnest he’d ever been, having started a crash diet a few weeks before on the day they’d met, but he was still out of shape, his legs a little wobbly. He gallantly carried the larger backpack, the one with the tent. His thinning hair wafted in the slight breeze, and he suspected he was going to be sunburned on the top of his head. But it was all worth it to spend time alone with his dream girl.

  Suzanne gushed over the view. Gushed—there was no other word for it, and though that might have provoked a cynical comment from Doug once upon a time, now he found it charming. He’d grown up in Central Oregon, so maybe he took the scenery for granted. When was the last time he’d been camping? Or even gone on a day hike? Now he was seeing the landscape with new eyes—Suzanne’s eyes, but also the way he’d looked on the world when he was young and hopeful.

  The world was bright with colors: the red of the wildflowers, the green of the junipers with their soft blue berries, the white snow on black mountains, the blue skies without a cloud. The trail was soothing brown sand amid moss-encrusted lava rocks. Slabs of broken slate towered over the trail like walls, and chipmunks ran along the cracks. The dry air was perfumed with sage. The world was at peace, and Doug’s heart with it.

  But even more than the view, Suzanne drew his gaze. She was dressed like a Victorian lady explorer. She called it steampunk. When Doug first met her, she was wearing a top hat with goggles on the brim. She was a sight to see in stodgy old Bend, even weirder than the anime kids who hung out at the local Japanese merchandise store, with their cat ears and drawn-on whiskers.

  The second Doug could Google it, he looked up steampunk, and suddenly it seemed like the most interesting subculture he’d ever heard of. A self-professed loner, he didn’t pay much attention to pop culture, not like a geek or a dork would. Well, maybe he was a little bit of a dork; at thirty-three, he could own it.

  At first Suzanne seemed way too young for him, looking more like a teenager than a woman in her late twenties. But once she told him her age, he saw the maturity and wisdom in her eyes: definitely not a teenager. She had an eternally young face and could have passed for almost any age, depending on her hair color and makeup. Sometimes, when the light hit her just right, she seemed ancient to him, a crone with a hooked nose and slanted cheekbones—but he thought that was just her wisdom shining through.

  Now she wore a flared waistcoat, a ruffled ascot, and boots that laced up to the knee. She was magnificent. Fearless. Intrepid. Hell, Doug wouldn’t even wear hats because he didn’t want anyone to notice him. Doug hated standing out.

  Certainly, when they were in public together, he got his wish. No one noticed him in the slightest; all eyes were on her. Which was fine. He loved basking in her reflected glory, proud that she chose to be with him when all the other guys, young, old, and everything in-between, wanted her.

  Eventually, he’d asked her why she was with him.

  “Because you’re a freakin’ writer, Douglas!” she said. “That’s so smashingly cool.”

  “I write for a local rag,” he protested. “About nothing important.”

  “But that’s not why you do it, is it?” she said, once again amazingly perceptive. “I’ve seen your notebooks; you’ve got lots of ideas.”

  He flushed a little. Most of his musings seemed lame and shallow to him. But Suzanne thought they were brilliant.

  “No,” he said. “Being a writer is a good excuse to be who I am.” The moment he said it, it felt true.

  “See what I mean?” She laughed and changed the subject.

  But somewhere deep inside, deep enough to be ignored, he wondered about her. It was the only blemish, this doubt, a bit of his old self, cynical about people’s motives. But damned if he could see what she was getting out of the relationship.

  His best friend, Cary, laughed at him. “Why question it? You’re a smart, interesting guy. She can see that.”

  “While every other girl in the world can’t?” Doug countered.

  Cary shook his head. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to you, Doug. You’re a fool to question it.”

  “Yes, but a smart fool.”

  Cary gave him a strange look and said, “That’s the worst kind.”

  The sad thing was that Cary later changed his mind about Suzanne.

  They’d gone to a party where the booze flowed freely. At the base of a pumice pit, the light reflected off the white rock, but not much else. The world constricted to the glow of the bonfire. The beer, which he wasn’t used to, and the girl made the world magical. Attending a kegger was in itself a minor miracle for Doug. Suzanne was the center of attention, but she included Doug in all the conversations, and he felt comfortable in a crowd for the first time in his life.

  Then Cary came along at the end of the night and pulled him aside. “You’re right, there is something off about her,” he said.

  “I thought you were my friend,” Doug said.

  “What?”

  “You hit on h
er, didn’t you?” Doug asked. “What happened, did she resist your charms?” He was in Cary’s face, and even as he nearly bumped heads with the friend he had known his whole life, Doug wondered at his own aggression.

  “What? No!” Cary exclaimed, but his flush revealed everything Doug needed to know. He stomped off.

  He hadn’t talked to Cary in weeks, Doug suddenly realized, standing there in the wilderness. How had that happened?

  Suzanne returned from her explorations, slid her arm through his, and snuggled up to him. He instantly forgot his worry about Cary.

  “Let’s go overland, Doug,” she said. “Let’s explore!”

  Doug hesitated. He resisted pulling out his phone and checking the GPS because he didn’t want to seem like too much of a ninny. He pulled out the map and checked their location, aware of Suzanne’s obvious impatience. She snorted and walked to the edge of the path, as if she was ready to spring away.

  The idea of getting lost terrified him. If he wasn’t on the right street, he’d freak out—and that was in the middle of a city where animals were pets. The wilderness…the wilderness was something else. A black bear had stalked him on a trail once, and there had been more and more sightings of cougars in the area. One had recently been killed in Pilot Butte State Park, right in the middle of town.

  The sun shone overhead, and he checked their bearings using the map and a compass from REI.

  “It’s easy to get lost out here,” he muttered. “All the rocks and trees start looking the same after awhile.”

  “Oh, come on, Doug!” Suzanne said. “As long as you have your compass, we can find our way back. We just have to go uphill, or downhill, or whatever.”

  Maybe, he thought. If you like stumbling around for a while. But she was right—they probably wouldn’t get too lost.

  “OK!” he said cheerfully, as if he wasn’t bothered at all. It felt good.

  They wandered up the dusty deer trails that wound around the lava outcroppings. The land flowed naturally, as if providing a path just for them, and they followed its natural contours, hand in hand. A warm fuzziness suffused the air; Doug’s stride felt liberating, as if all his cares were being kicked away with every step. He was going to make love, maybe not for the first time, but for the first right time. They stopped in a clearing just as his breathing was turning into gasps for air.

  Suzanne pulled out her phone, took a picture of him, and held it out for him to see. He actually looked kind of cool. The late sun darkened his glasses; his hair was appealingly tousled, and he had the healthy sheen of exertion. But it was his smile that made it all work: happy, and anticipating more happiness soon. A long time since he’d been like that.

  He took a picture of Suzanne, but when they looked at it, her face was obscured by shadow and her body was strangely elongated.

  “That’s weird.” Doug looked around, but there were no clouds overhead or trees nearby. Had he held his thumb over the lens? A chill came over him, but he shook it off. The sun was dropping, and the air was growing colder.

  “Let me try again,” he said.

  “Never mind,” Suzanne said, laughing. “We’ve got all the time in the world. All of nature awaits.” She held her arms out as if to embrace a long-lost lover. “Mother Nature is so beautiful,” she said reverently.

  The sun’s rays shimmered around her; then the light dimmed as the single cloud in the sky passed over them. For a moment, her steampunk look was replaced by something else—an earth goddess kind of shimmer. Her starched waistcoat and leather boots took on a softer outline, almost as if she wore nothing but sandals and a summer dress, her hair garlanded with flowers.

  Doug blinked and Suzanne, the steampunk hipster, was back. Suzanne was staring right at him, right into him, as if he’d said or done something wrong. Then the sun broke out again and his warm feelings came back, pushing away the growing cold, the worry about getting lost. Suzanne was apparently immune to the weather, not even buttoning her waistcoat.

  When Doug looked around, he realized that he didn’t know where they were.

  “We’d better stop for the night,” he said. He dropped his backpack, wishing he could just lie down. He wasn’t looking forward to putting up the tent. Suzanne plopped down on the springy moss covering most of the clearing, smiling up at him. “Nice and soft for my tushy,” she murmured. “For when I’m on my back.”

  “Whoa,” he said. “Slow down, girl, or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Or…maybe I’ll get a little too excited,” he said. “I, uh, want it to last.”

  “Oh, it will,” she said. “It will last forever.” But her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes this time, and Doug felt a moment of uncertainty.

  “Look out for ants,” he said awkwardly. “You can’t go twenty feet around here without finding an anthill.”

  They pitched their tent and rolled out the sleeping bags as dusk fell. It was full dark before Doug hung the bag of food from the branches of a tree at the edge of the clearing.

  “What are you doing?” Suzanne asked.

  “Bears,” he answered. “You never want to have food in the tent.”

  “Really?” she asked, and a momentary look of terror filled her eyes. “I can’t stand bears.”

  “Really? You seem so fearless.” Doug stopped and stared at her.

  “I like nature when it’s tame,” she said, snugging her arms around him and looking up into his face. So much for the beauty of nature, he thought, then shook it off. He leaned down and kissed her. It went on forever. She broke it off, finally, and rested her face against his chest. “And I like men,” she whispered.

  Doug grew hard against her. He couldn’t fully see her face in the growing dark, but it seemed to him that she gave him a knowing smile.

  “Let’s get a fire going,” she said.

  “Against the law,” he said. “Technically, we’re in a drought.”

  “Technically,” she replied with a mischievous smile. “We’re miles from anyone who could catch us. Come on, Douglas, let’s live a little.”

  At his insistence, they cleared all undergrowth away and built a rock circle before lighting the fire. As the darkness deepened around them, Doug was glad of its warmth. It would be worth the ticket if they got caught. The heat on his face and the chill at his back made him feel more alive than he’d ever felt. He was within a comforting cocoon of the fire, in the embrace of the girl of his dreams.

  The flames illuminated Suzanne’s face, and her eyes were bright. She stood up, keeping her eyes on his as her fingers worked their way down, unbuttoning her waistcoat. Her ascot came loose, revealing the sheer blouse beneath. Steampunks apparently didn’t believe in bras. She cupped one breast, rolling the nipple between her thumb and forefinger. She extended a leg toward him and he fumbled to unlace one high boot, then the other, pulling them off. She watched him in silence, the flames reflected in her dark eyes.

  Suzanne reached down and shimmied out of her pants. He closed his eyes and groaned, and earned a laugh.

  She stood, her naked body shimmering the firelight. Doug felt his heart give a double thump, and he felt dizzy for a moment. She put out her hand. He rose, and she led him to the tent.

  He didn’t even remember taking off his clothes. He felt the coolness of the air, and the heat within him. Suzanne was lying on the sleeping bag; so beautiful he was sure this was a dream.

  Then he was on top of her and she was spreading her legs, and he slid into her naturally as if the universe had been designed only for their two bodies, all of history culminating in this one act.

  Doug wanted it to last forever, but almost immediately, he cried out and burst inside her. He was embarrassed, but Suzanne just murmured “Wow.”

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  “No worries,” she said, reaching down and fondling him. “Do it again.” He instantly became hard.

  She once again took him inside herself, and they made slow, gentle love this time, making it last for etern
ity, building to an impossible climax that went on and on.

  Every act of sex Doug had ever experienced was now exposed as tacky and meaningless, a physical act of release that meant nothing. He was filled with love for this girl, and for the world, and it seemed to him that from now on, he would only want this and nothing else.

  Even then, Suzanne wasn’t through. She lowered her mouth onto him, which no girl had done before, and it was even better than he’d imagined. She sensed when he was ready to climax again and mounted him. This time she was in a hurry, and as he felt her growing close to another climax, he moaned and came for a third time.

  He nearly blacked out from the pleasure. He felt as if he could close his eyes and be instantly asleep, and that his dreams would be filled with a soft aching.

  Amazingly, Suzanne still wasn’t done. But by then, Doug was done; so done. It was so glorious that he never wanted to stop, but he was exhausted. If he were less of a gentleman, he might even brag about it; well, maybe only to Cary, just to prove how wrong his friend had been about Suzanne’s intentions.

  He was sure there was no way he could satiate her a fourth time. But to his amazement, he became hard again. It hurt, a deep pain in his groin, a raw sensation in his member. Still, she ground insistently against him, heedless of his attempts to push her away.

  “I love you,” he said. “But I can’t go on.”

  A glimmer of hard triumph came into her eyes.

  A little confused, he stuttered, “It hurts.”

  “Give it to me,” she hissed, in a voice that was barely human.

  He looked up into her face, finally seeing her—truly seeing her—for the first time. There was no softness there; the planes of her face were sharp, like rock. She glared down at him in anger and hate. She grasped his shoulders, and he glimpsed talons, not fingers, digging into him, drawing blood. Her breasts, which had been so pert and round, dangled above him, long and swollen.

  She was taking all of him. As his vision constricted and narrowed, part of him understood that he’d always known. That he was willing to give everything to be with her.