Black Magic Woman (15 page)

"I mean, you weren't really thinking about joining that Tijuana circus that Simon had going back there, were you?"

"Dear God, no. Not in a thousand years. I'm not a prude, you know that. And I've never begrudged other people their fun, as long as everybody's a consenting adult. But that kind of mindless rutting is definitely
not
my scene."

"Then what—"

"It was that man, the blond one. I mean, okay, I've never seen a real orgy before. So I was looking around, you know, at who was doing what to whom. Prurient interest, I suppose. But when I noticed the blond guy, there was
something…"

"Did you know him, or did he maybe remind you of someone you know?"

"No, it wasn't that. And he's not even that good looking. But there was this instant, I don't know,
connection,
as if everyone else in the room had suddenly disappeared, or become irrelevant."

"Just like in the movies, huh?"

Libby snorted. "I don't usually have trouble separating the movies from real life. But for a few seconds there, I experienced such a surge of, well,
lust
is the only word for it, that I was seriously tempted to tear my clothes off, elbow the garter belt lady aside, and jump him right there, with all those people around."

"Goodness gracious," Morris said mildly. "Um, does this kind of thing occur often?"

"No, never. I mean, I've felt lusty before, everyone has, but nothing like that has
ever
happened to me."

"I'd almost wonder if Simon might've slipped something into your glass of virgin's blood, except you didn't have anything to drink."

"No, you're right, I didn't," she said pensively. "It's an interesting idea, though."

The door opened to reveal the blond man from the orgy at Simon Duval's church. He stood there in tight jeans and a white T-shirt with Jim Morrison's picture on it. The clear outline of his erect penis under the worn denim suggested he wore no underwear. Part of Libby's mind was acutely conscious that her nightshirt only came down to mid-thigh. The rest of her brain couldn't have cared less.

The man, who looked something like an older, taller Brad Pitt, gave Libby a lazy grin. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Libby found herself stepping back from the door, but the man continued to stand in the hall. Finally, she heard herself say, "Why don't you come on in?"

Only then did he cross the threshold, closing the door behind him. Libby kept backing up until she stood in the middle of the room. The man followed her, like a stalking leopard.

"What do you want?" Libby asked in a voice not quite her own.

"You, of course."

"But—why me?"

He smiled knowingly. "Unfinished business."

He reached behind his head and pulled off the T-shirt to reveal a hairless, muscular chest and flat stomach. He tossed the shirt on the floor, followed it with his sandals, then the tight jeans.

A long, aching moment later, they were joined by Libby Chastain's nightshirt.

The man kneeling above her turned his head toward the door in annoyance, and for an instant something showed in his face that was not quite human. The mists within Libby's mind parted enough for her to snatch a quick breath and yell, "Quincey!"

The blond man immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, and in tense silence they both listened to the doorknob rattle as the locked connecting door refused to open. The man looked back down at Libby then, and the smile was just returning to his handsome face when the door frame splintered under a mighty kick and Quincey Morris charged into the room like an avenging angel.

For half a second Morris feared that he had just interrupted an intimate moment between two willing grown-ups, but then he remembered the urgency in Libby's voice when she'd called his name. Morris moved his feet a little, seeking perfect balance just as his
sensei
had taught him. Keeping his eyes on the blond man, he asked, "Are you okay, Libby?"

"Yes, I'm all right," she said shakily. "But there's something—"

"Quincey Morris, I presume," the blond man said smoothly. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, although I would have done so later this evening, in any event. Still, there's nothing wrong with saving a little time…"

As Morris watched, the man began to
change.
The face became rounder and softer, the hair longer, and his entire body seemed to shrink a couple of sizes. Breasts began to bloom on the hairless chest, while the penis and testicles retracted and were soon transformed into female genitals, shaved bald as a baby's bottom.

It took only seconds for the handsome blond man to become a stunningly attractive blonde young woman.

Quincey Morris thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life.

"You like me, don't you Quincey?" The voice was a throaty alto, only a little higher than the man's had been. Morris found himself getting an urgent erection.

"Yes, I thought you might. Well, then, why don't we do something about it?" The woman stepped forward, holding Morris's eyes with her own. "All three of us, together."

She turned to look toward the bed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Libby? I know you like girls as well as boys; I could tell the minute I saw you. So what do you say, kids?" She returned her gaze to Morris. "Let's all have some
fun."

Without consciously deciding to do it, Morris began to unbutton his shirt. He eyes saw nothing but the woman, his mind thought of nothing but having her, right now, this instant.

Sitting up on the bed, Libby Chastain slowly raised her left hand, the way some unlucky swimmers do when drowning. Then, using all the strength she could muster, she slammed it backhand against the edge of the night table.

The pain, as expected, was excruciating. It drove everything else out of Libby's mind, including the red fog that had enveloped it. She pointed her right index finger like a gun, and its target was the nude blonde woman. "Depart, unclean spirit!" she cried, sketching a sign in the air with her finger. "And return no more! I revoke my invitation!
Isa ya! Ri ega!"

The door to the hallway opened, seemingly of its own volition. Morris never saw the woman-thing move, but one instant she was there in all her nude glory, and the next she was just— gone. Then the door slammed—loudly enough, it sounded, to wake the whole hotel.

Morris stood there for a couple of seconds, blinking like someone newly awakened. "Holy Christ," he said softly. He turned toward Libby Chastain, then quickly looked away. "Listen," he said to the wall, "I'm going to use your facilities, if you don't mind. Splash some cold water on my face, or something. Why don't you get dressed, and then we'll talk, okay?"

"Sure, Quincey, you go ahead." Libby's voice sounded a little unsteady.

He went into the bathroom and closed the door softly behind him.

"What'd you say?"

"That I'd heard the noise too, but it sounded like it was coming from further down the hall. I said that the racket had woken me from a sound sleep, and that I was just dropping off again when he called. He was quite apologetic after that."

Morris smiled briefly, then was serious again. He looked at Libby, who sat in the room's sole armchair. "What was that you said at the end of your dismissal of our visitor? I didn't recognize the language."

"Ancient Sumerian. It's part of a charm against demons."

"Is that what we were dealing with? A demon?"

She nodded. "An incubus—in its male form, anyway. The female side is called a succubus."

"I thought the legends describe those as two separate creatures."

"They do, but the legends are wrong. That's because the demon's victims are usually exposed to only one side of its nature. But, as you saw, it can take on either a male or a female aspect, depending on the person being targeted."

"That reminds me, didn't I hear it say something about you liking girls and boys both? It's none of my damn business, but do you play for both teams, Libby?"

Libby Chastain plucked at the hem of her bathrobe for a few seconds. "Yes," she said finally. "Yes, I'm bisexual." She looked at him then, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "But that doesn't make me some kind of a slut, Quincey."

"Jesus, Libby, of course not," Morris said hurriedly. "I didn't mean anything like—"

She held up a hand. "All right, okay. I'm sorry. I guess I'm feeling a little defensive at the moment."

"No, listen, like I said, it's none of my damn business, and anyway I wouldn't presume—"

She stopped him again. "Quincey, it's all right, just relax, okay?"

She leaned back in her chair. "We've never talked about our personal lives much, although I know we care for each other. At least, I know that I care for you, and I'm pretty sure it's mutual."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Witch's intuition?"

"Something like that, maybe. Anyway, I'm a devout practitioner of serial monogamy. I've had romantic relationships with several people in my life. Some of them were men, some were women. But always one at a time. And I've never even considered something like that sexual free-for-all we saw at Duval's place."

"I understand," Morris said. "And I respect that, not that it matters."

"It matters to me, Quincey. Which is why I want you to understand that what you saw when you came bursting in here a little while ago was the result of an enchantment by that creature."

"You don't have to tell me. I felt it, too, remember? If you hadn't done something drastic, I swear she would have had me making the sign of the double-backed aardvark with her faster than you could say—"

Despite herself, Libby began to giggle. "The sign of the what?
Double-backed aardvark?
Who on earth calls it that?"

"A good ol' boy from down home, name of Joe Bob Briggs. Used to host his own movie show on cable, 'Joe Bob's Drive-in Theater.' Ever see it?"

"Guess I must have missed that one, I can't think how," Libby said with a barely suppressed smile.

Morris's voice turned serious again. "It raises an interesting question, though. What was the point of all this?"

"The point of sending an incubus/succubus, you mean?"

"Exactly. We're assuming it was sent by the black witch we're after, right?"

She nodded. "No other explanation makes sense."

"All right then. I can see why she'd want to set fire to the building in Boston. If we get burned to cinders, she's got no more problem. As you said, it makes sense, in an evil, twisted sort of way. But what does it matter to her whether we get laid, even by a minor demon? Succubi aren't killers, are they?"

"No, they're not. Not of the body, anyway."

"I'm not following you," Morris said.

Libby tightened the belt of her robe, as if against a sudden chill. "Intercourse with a succubus or incubus is said to rob the victim of vitality, ambition, and short-term memory."

Morris snorted. "Sounds like some pot heads I knew in college."

"It's much worse than a marijuana habit, Quincey. Some accounts even describe these creatures as devouring the soul. It's a form of psychic vampirism."

"Jesus."

"And it's like vampirism in another way, too."

"What's that?"

"After the first successful attack, there's nothing to prevent the creature from coming back, again, and again. And after each time, there'd be a little less of you left."

"So if you and I had succumbed to that thing, either together or separately…"

"Then tomorrow morning we'd have considerably less enthusiasm for continuing this expedition of ours. And the next morning, we'd have even less."

"Then I'd say we were pretty lucky you were able to come up with an incantation to drive that thing out of here. Talk about a demon lover!"

"That's exactly where the term comes from, I'm sure of it." Libby fussed with her robe some more. "Quincey?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Will you stay here, for what's left of the night?" Seeing his eyes widen, she added hastily, "Not for sex. I don't want to change our relationship that way, and I don't think you do, either. But, I don't know… I guess I'm scared to be alone."

"I'm kind of glad you asked me that, Libby," Morris said softly. "Since I've been sitting here trying to come up with a way to suggest the same thing without sounding like I was trying to put the moves on you."

They turned out all the lights but one, and Morris kicked off his shoes. The two of them lay together on the queen-size bed, close but not quite touching.

After a while, Morris drifted off to sleep. But Libby Chastain lay awake, wary and watchful, until dawn finally came to drive the night's evil away.