Succubated!

The succubus stared at the priest, then raised an inquisitive finger towards him. “What… what are you doing here? And wait, who are you?” Or if you’re who you look like, she thought with an inward shudder, then who am I?

The priest simply shrugged. “As far as I know, I’m Father Michael Belmont.” He gestured to a nearby bench. “Why don’t we sit down? You look like you’ve been through quite a lot.” The train car jolted as the vehicle made a turn, brakes screeching. Una nearly stumbled, but the older man steadied her.

“Thanks.” Una allowed herself to be guided to a bench and lowered herself carefully, wincing at a dozen minor pains. The rest of the subway car stretched forward, entirely devoid of passengers. This has got to be a dream. It’s too weird to be sitting here looking at myself, right down to the mole I used to have by my nose. “Yael… I’ve seen her many times in dreams, but you… are you some other part of me? I remember being you. I thought I was you, in some sense, but I’m also… you know. Her?”

Father Michael listened to the succubus, then shook his head. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I’m here, so that’s something, but…” he spread his hands and shrugged. “You might know more than I do. But I’m here to help, of course.”

Una felt oddly comforted by her former self’s calm demeanor. “Thanks. Even if none of this is real, it’s nice to have something to wear besides a few strips of gold lamé.” She fingered the fur collar at her bloodstained neck. “This coat… I remember it. After Mrs. Dooley’s husband passed, she wanted to donate it, but…”

“…she insisted I wear it myself, since she said my old coat was too threadbare for a pastor to wear. So I wore it ever since—I guess I should say we wore it?” Father Michael smiled.

Una adjusted the coat around her as the train kept hurtling along, then let out a sigh. “The last time I wore this was coming home from our final sermon, I think. Not long after that, I switched to borrowing stuff from Susan.” The priest nodded, and she looked at him with a trace of suspicion in her gaze. “Wait, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“Before I was here on this train?” He put a hand to his beard. “I saw you lying unconscious on a bed, in the darkness—you were wearing a gray business suit. I felt you needed me, so I went to you.”

Una’s eyes widened. “All shall be well, Julian of Norwich? That was you?”

The priest gave a small smile and nodded again. Una leaned back against the seat, staring at their reflection in the windows opposite: a petite young woman whose curves were barely concealed beneath an ill-fitting winter coat, with a curved sword lying next to her, and an older, larger man in the garb of a Catholic priest, with a gentle, reassuring expression on his face and a pair of reading glasses in his shirt pocket.

Una laughed, and it felt good. “Whoever we are, we make for a pretty strange couple. But I’m glad you’re watching my ass.” Father Michael looked at the succubus with mild consternation, and she chuckled. “Sorry, Father—I mean, I’m glad you have my back. But if you’re… you, do you remember becoming… me?” She frowned in puzzlement.

“Certainly, although it got a little strange when Spencer had me under his control. I remember walking with Yael through ancient Uruk, but after that…” He shrugged. “I was somewhere else, maybe? Aware of what was going on with you at times, but I felt like I was dozing off in a movie theater showing my own life, if that makes any sense.”

Una nodded slowly. “That adds up, actually. It’s the point at which I was born—when I became Una. Yael started to slip away too, or dive under, as she put it. I just didn’t realize you were somewhere in my subconscious, too? But when I’m talking with Yael, I always feel more like Micki. Now that I’m talking to you… I’m not sure who I am.”

The kindly priest regarded her thoughtfully. “Perhaps that’s not as important as who you become? Isn’t that why you chose to be Una in the first place?”

“I don’t know if I had much choice about it, but yeah—to become a whole new person.” She furrowed her delicate brows at the priest. “Hey, are you okay existing like this? Not just as a kind of guardian spirit in my head, but… as a man? I remember having pretty intense feelings about that when Spencer had us under his control.”

“Am I experiencing gender dysphoria, do you mean?” He considered the matter. “Not exactly. This form certainly feels familiar, although I wouldn’t mind being female either. I suppose it helps that I’m not really a physical body.” He patted his stomach ruefully. “Oh well,” he sighed, and the note of resignation in his voice sounded all too familiar to Una: Father Michael Belmont to a tee.

Una found herself at a loss for words. Her priestly former self, still in the habit of self-denial and repression, made awkward company for the succubus version of their shared identity. In comparison, she felt like a nearly parodic archetype of sexual liberation and feminine empowerment. But the train was still barreling down a dark tunnel, dreamlike in its refusal to reach a station.

She changed the subject, and told Father Michael about what had happened since waking, although she omitted her vision of the giant hand.

“You said ‘welcome home’ when you pulled me aboard. Do you have any idea where we are?” Una leaned back against the seat, trying not to expose her barely concealed crotch to Father Michael—of course, I know that would upset him—and crossed her legs as demurely as her skimpy attire allowed. “I mean, I know we’re not in proper reality. I’ve put together that much. But… is my body asleep, or under some kind of magical influence?”

Michael shook his head again. “No, this isn’t a dream—not exactly. I’ve been here before, you see; it’s a place full of memories, although it mostly resembles the city. I believe we’re inside our mind, or perhaps the mind we now share with Yael. The subconscious, perhaps?”

The succubus snorted. “Seriously, the subconscious represented as a series of subway tunnels? Are we really that literal-minded?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he spread his hands.

“Isn’t that precisely what you’d expect from the subconscious? Cliches and stereotypes, rather than nuance and subtlety?” The priest’s avuncular smile faded into a frown as he studied her.

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a handkerchief, and wet it from a flask. Una knew from long experience that it likely held seltzer with lemon. “Here,” Michael said, in his most kindly tone, “Let me at least clean your face up a bit. You look a fright.”

Una leaned forward and allowed the priest to dab away dirt smears and dried blood from her cheeks and lips. The cloth felt cool, but the water smelled lemony, of course. I feel childish, she thought, but with our own parents long departed, who else could play mother hen but another version of myself? He moved on to her collarbone, although fastidiously avoiding a glance at her cleavage.

The succubus studied Michael close-up, studying his features closely as he fussed over her. She could see herself in his face: the same dark hair but peppered with gray, the high cheekbones, and even the same mole by his nose, although his skin was wrinkled and lined. He’s not bad looking for an old guy, she thought idly. I can see why Yael was into him as a target.

The priest’s eyes met hers, and they both blushed slightly. He cleared his throat and sat back, putting away the dampened handkerchief.

“Thanks,” said Una. “I was a real mess.”

“You looked like someone who’d just fought an archdemon, fallen out of the sky, landed in a destroyed subway tunnel and then had to run for her life,” Michael replied. “No shame in looking like a mess!”

The succubus smiled, then sidled closer, leaning against his shoulder. Michael tensed, but did not move away, and after a moment he relaxed, resting a hand gently on her arm.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Una asked. “Because I know this is weird. I mean, we’re the same person—well, two parts of a person—but I’ve been… changing a lot lately, and you’re still a priest.”

Michael smiled and shook his head. “Am I a priest anymore? I would have thought we’d be defrocked by now. And I’m just a piece, or a shade, a memory… so I’m happy if you’re comfortable.”

They sat silently for a few moments, listening to the rumble of the subway train as it sped along the rails.

“This endless subway ride is discomfiting,” Una said, growing restless. “I gotta say, although you’re by far the more pleasant parental-self-figure to spend time with, I feel like we ought to find Yael. I assume you had some reason for suspecting this is her mind, too?”

The priest nodded. “Yes, there are a lot of—” A squeal of brakes interrupted him as the train began slowing. “Ah,” he said. “Perhaps you’ll see in a moment.”

Although they sat in the last car, the platform they approached was substantially longer than the train, stretching into darkness. Una stood and peered out the window: a large crowd of people stood waiting, wearing an extraordinary variety of clothing that seemed to represent every era of human history.

Women in flowing kimonos rubbed elbows with Roman senators in purple togas; Victorian men clad in frock coats and ladies wearing bustle dresses mixed with figures swathed in Bedouin robes. A tall man in what looked like an imperial Russian uniform stood next to a Las Vegas cigarette girl and a wild-haired woman wearing rough-cut leathers.

“What the fuck…?” Una murmured, as the train screeched to its halt at the platform. Two events coincided as the final jolt of deceleration shook the train: Una lost her grip on her curved blade, which promptly skittered across the floor away from her, and the doors slid open with a hydraulic hiss.

The crowd of people waiting on the platform poured into the car, pushing Una aside as she scrambled to grab Velisatra, and she heard Father Michael’s cry as the tide pressed him back onto the bench. “Una!” he yelled, but the throng was already separating him from her, shuffling forward to fill the car and push her further back, away from the door.

She saw the sword’s hilt as it slid beneath a seat, and she dove towards it, shouldering aside a bulky man wearing a hakama. Her fingers touched the handle as the crush of people shoved her sideways, and she grabbed the sword and pulled it towards her. The crowd pushed and heaved, keeping her from moving back towards Michael, and a slender woman in a pinstripe suit trod on her bare foot. “Ow! Watch it!” she snapped.

The woman turned towards her, but didn’t appear to notice the sword or the succubus’ near-nudity. Instead, the woman smiled politely, her eyes unfocused. “Sorry, ma’am,” she said, her voice flat and toneless, then turned away.

Una tried to shove her way forward, towards where she’d heard the priest, but the crowd was too tightly packed for her to move more than a few steps at a time. “Michael? Where are you?” The train began moving, and she rocked against the surrounding bodies; she couldn’t reach a pole or railing to grab onto while keeping one hand on the curved blade beneath her coat.

“Una!” Michael’s voice sounded muffled and indistinct. She sidled past a pair of elderly gentlemen dressed as cowboys and caught sight of the priest. He sat on the same bench where she‘d left him, but wedged between a woman in a in colorful sarong and a muscular black man wearing a football jersey.

He stretched out his arm between the legs of the people in front of him, and she likewise extended her hand as far as she could, straining to touch him. Their fingertips grazed, brushing against each other, but the crush of bodies kept them apart.

“I’m stuck in a press of a thousand older memories,” said the priest, and Una laughed despite herself. A jolt of the train shifted the crowd, and Una could move forward a bit more and grab his hand. She held it as firmly as she could.

“Are you all right?” she asked. The figures between them, a tall blonde woman wearing a white lab coat, and a portly fellow with an eyepatch and a bowler hat, steadfastly ignored her and Michael, staring straight ahead with blank faces and vacant expressions.

He gave her a small, sad smile and squeezed her hand gently in return. “I’ll be fine, but you mustn’t get stuck here with me.” The train lurched, and the passengers swayed, bumping and jostling against one another. “We may not have much time, so remember a few things for me, will you?”

Una nodded, holding the priest’s hand tight. The train car was warm and stuffy with human bodies, and the smell of sweat mingled with perfume, tobacco smoke and dust. “As long as it’s not my catechism.” She smirked. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“First,” said Father Michael, “remember that you are still and always a child of God. We’ve always believed that to be true of all beings, whether demon or mortal or other things entirely. Don’t give up hope. Second, no matter what our gender, we have always been surrounded and loved by good people. Rely on them, and they’ll help you when you need it most.”

Una smiled. “You sound like a fortune cookie, but that all sounds about right.”

Michael returned her smile before his expression grew serious again. “And third… I owe you an apology. You are…. something like my daughter, one I never had. I love you, and I’m proud of who you’ve become. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize how wrong I was to deny you, and myself, the life we deserved. You ought to be free, Una, to live the life you desire. Please don’t ever forget that.”

Una felt the prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes and swallowed hard. “You were only trying to do your best, like you always have. I love you too, old man. But thanks for the advice.” She leaned forward and kissed Michael’s hand.

The train slowed again, the lights of a station filtering between the press of bodies.

The priest’s lips creased in the best smile he could manage. “Don’t worry about me. Go with God! Or whoever watches over us, really.”

As soon as the train came to a complete halt, the crowd pushed forward, forcing Una with them towards the doors. She clung to Michael until the last possible second, but the mass of bodies separated them, and carried Una out of the train onto the crowded platform.

Una struggled to hold back tears as the train’s doors slid shut again, as it accelerated and left the platform behind. She couldn’t even see Michael past the shoulders and heads around her. Voices murmured in a dozen languages, but she felt alone among hundreds.

Una turned to stare at the departing train; then she felt a hand palm her backside. She whirled and lashed out with her free arm, but her backhand collided with the armor of a Roman centurion. The soldier glared at her; his own leather-gloved hand hadn’t been the perpetrator.

“Slut,” said a deep voice, but the speaker was lost in the shifting sea of people. Una cursed and shoved her way towards the stairs leading up to the street. She kept her head bowed and her hand clenched tightly on the hilt of her sword.

She made some progress, but most of the crowd wasn’t cooperative; they were either standing still or moving in the opposite direction, towards the end of the platform. Somewhere ahead, Una could hear the sounds of an altercation: shouts and curses in a dozen tongues, the thud of flesh hitting flesh, and even a scream. She cursed her height and struggled to see what was going on.

As she shoved through the crowd, someone in a long cloak thrust their hands into the folds of Una’s coat and roughly groped both of her breasts. “Get the fuck off me!” She swung her arm in what she hoped would be a knockout punch, but the culprit had shoved her off balance and kept moving.

Her fist glanced off the shoulder of a woman in a burqa, who staggered backwards into a broad-shouldered Asian man in a business suit. He shouted something at Una in a language she did not recognize.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “Please, let me through!” Una kept struggling through the crowd towards the turnstiles; the commotion ahead grew louder. The sound of breaking glass punctuated the shouting, along with the dull boom of something heavy falling.

“Who does she think she is, fucking Wonder Woman?!” Una heard someone say. She pushed harder, trying to force her way to the front of the crowd, but a group of women in sari blocked her way, their faces expressionless and bored.

“Look at how she’s dressed!” another man called from somewhere nearby. The people around her seemed to turn their attention towards her. “She doesn’t have anything under that coat, the perv!”

A man with slicked-back hair and a pin-striped vest pointed at her and sneered. “Fucking slut!” His face bore a striking resemblance to one of her tormenters from high school.

“Eat my shit, asshole,” she snarled back, her temper getting the best of her. Una lifted the sword in her right hand. “Move, goddammit!” The crowd shrunk back a bit, giving her enough room to raise the weapon.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, but if you don’t let me through right now, I’ll start swinging,” the succubus shouted, her voice ringing out loudly. The people nearest her backed away a few steps, but those further back were oblivious.

“That thing’s not even human,” said a woman in a pink blazer, aghast. “I think it’s a demon!” She turned towards the rest of the crowd and raised her own voice to a shout. “Everyone! There’s a succubus here. We’ve got to destroy it!”

Una swore under her breath. She didn’t know if she had the strength or nerve to cut her way through the mob, but it was her only option, with no choice but to get out of this place. She turned and leveled Velisatra at the people between her and the exit, pointing the sword tip towards the woman who’d recognized her. “I don’t know if you’re real, or a memory, or what, but I’m done playing games. Get the fuck out of my way!”

The crowd surged towards her, and Una slashed outwards, cutting a shallow slice across the belly of a young man in a tracksuit, who yelped in pain. The rest of the mob stopped short. Una kept moving, brandishing the curved sword.

“I’m not kidding, I’m leaving!” she shouted, raising the sword high. “Anyone who gets in my way is gonna get hurt!” The crowd parted, forming a narrow path towards the turnstiles. Beyond them, the sound of glass breaking and a grunt of pain indicated whatever was happening had grown worse.

Una strode quickly through the parting crowd, her bare feet cold upon the concrete. She kept her eyes focused on the exit, ignoring the murmurs of the onlookers, who closed in behind her.

As she passed the turnstile, the jeers of the crowd rose behind her. “Bitch needs to learn a lesson!” someone shouted. “Someone show that succubus who her masters are!” A chunk of stone struck the turnstile gateway, hurled from within the throng of people. Una broke into a run and sprinted towards the stairs.

She stopped as she rounded a corner and saw the source of the clamor. Ten gargoyle-like creatures, similar to the ones who had pursued her earlier on the subway, surrounded a compact figure in the center of a ring of shattered glass and bent metal: the remains of a ticket booth.

The person they confronted wore a gleaming black and bronze bodysuit that left her scarlet legs and arms bare, and brandished a spear. She spun the weapon expertly in her hands, keeping the monsters at bay. Her hair was dark and curly, with the curved horns of a ram sprouting from her temples.

“Come on, motherfuckers,” snarled Yael. “You know I can kick all your asses.”