Succubated!

No doubt about it: Chinwe Adeyemi had seen many unusual clients in her time as a psychiatrist at the Office of Supernatural Affairs. She recalled the young man who wasn’t aware he’d been bitten by a werewolf, the haunted estate lawyer. The couple cursed to transform into swans whenever they argued, and the dryad from another world, stranded here by an errant portal.

Part of the OSA’s mission involved providing counseling for anyone affected by the supernatural, but most of those cases still involved simple solutions: a friendly face who’d listen to and believe your experiences, then provide reassurance, advice, and referrals for material needs and care. As for the rest—the complicated, tangled, unusual situations—everyone sent those to Dr. Adeyemi’s office.

She steepled her fingers and looked at the young woman reclining on the loveseat opposite her. Una Belmont looked like a young woman, at least—albeit one with mottled, deep-red skin. Chinwe knew appearances to be deceiving; this woman was somehow both a former Catholic priest in her 50s—as old as Chinwe herself—and a demon of nearly two hundred times that lifespan.

The succubus wore a long, flowing black dress with a plunging neckline; its fabric, stretchy yet silken, clung to every curve and angle of her body, and shimmered with a faint iridescence when it caught the sunlight from the office windows. The overall effect was one of careless sensuality, a woman who’d just thrown something on which happened to accentuate her beauty.

Of course, a succubus would hardly need effort to look good in such an outfit; Chinwe wondered if this one had even done so consciously. There was no mistaking the woman’s demonic nature, either; prominent red horns curved over her hair, and the folds of Una’s gown barely helped conceal the sinuous length of her tail.

Una Belmont gazed out of Chinwe’s office window, which looked out over downtown Manhattan towards Chinatown. Chinwe noted her patient’s faraway, distracted gaze; she had to repeat Una’s name twice to get her attention.

“I’m sorry, Doctor Adeyemi,” said Una. “It seems my thoughts keep drifting.”

“That’s understandable after a traumatic event.” She tried out a kindly smile. “But I don’t need to tell you that, do I? We’ve both had many years of helping people in distress.”

The wave of Una’s hand conveyed both polite acknowledgement and weary resignation. “And I suppose you already know that I’m not permitted to counsel parishioners anymore.”

Chinwe nodded. “That must be hard, after all that experience.” The doctor leaned forward in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee and smoothing out the folds in her skirt. “What I already know is something we should discuss, however. I’m part of the senior staff of the OSA, and your partner Susan has shared your case file with me. A lot of her personal notes, although she’s kept them fairly professional, given your relationship.”

Una’s expression brightened by a degree or two at the mention of Susan. Chinwe jotted a quick note and looked up to see Una pursing her lips, with a finger just below.

“Susan told me as much, yes. I suppose I don’t have much choice in the matter. This is the government agency tasked with surveilling people like me, after all. But as you’re a counselor, I’ll also admit that the whole thing makes me feel… exposed?”

Una phrased the last word as a question and raised one eyebrow inquiringly. Chinwe nodded again, still writing. “I can imagine, of course. Susan clearly cares about you very much, but you have no reason to trust anyone else here, do you?”

Una said nothing, so she continued. “Still, you have a choice. I could refer you to another counselor who doesn’t know anything about your background and history—like most patients, you could tell your own story.”

Una looked out the window again, frowning. “No,” she eventually said. “Anything Susan said will be accurate, and I suppose this saves time.”

“Very well.” Chinwe put aside her notebook. There was a small stack of files on an end table beside her, and she selected a thin folder from the top. She opened it to the cover sheet, which showed details of a recent investigation. “I should still ask you a traditional question, Una—what brings you here today?”

Una nodded towards the file. “You know about the Mesembrine, I think?”

“Yes. It sounds like a terrible experience, both psychologically and physically. I must ask… those markings on your skin, are they acid burns?” Chinwe squinted at the exposed valleys of Una’s cleavage, thighs, and arms.

Una shook her head. “Kind of. The demon’s substance burned me, but these are… something I did to myself, I guess? I succeeded at healing the original burns, but these reappeared not long afterwards. Susan thinks… well, she thinks I should talk to you. Because of that, and…”

The succubus sighed, then paused for a long moment, clasping her hands. Chinwe knew better than to break the silence; sometimes it took a while to reach difficult subjects.

“I absorbed some of the Mesembrine’s essence, maybe its powers as well. Susan wanted to test that, understand it better… but I can’t seem to draw any of that out again. Not since it happened.” The succubus seemed to stare at her hands as she folded them in her lap. “So she insisted I talk to you. As if it’s psychosomatic, or something.”

“What happened to your hands, Una?” Chinwe leaned closer, peering at the long, sharp claws that tipped Una’s fingers. The woman was moving them gingerly, as if unused to the length and shape.

Una sighed again. “As you probably know, I have an… unreliable ability to change my shape. This time, when I turned red and popped my horns and tails out, my claws grew to this length.” She frowned. “Which was useful when fighting the Mesembrine, of course. But difficult for everyday life. I can’t shrink them, either.”

Chinwe wrote another few notes on her pad, then looked at Una. “You’ve been through so many changes in the last year. Most of them were against your will.” She noted her patient tense at that last statement. “That would be an enormous challenge for anyone, Una. How did you feel when you gained some control over your body?”

The succubus’ face clouded. “It was… exhilarating at first. I practically jumped my roommate—he’s the one who put the nanobots inside me. Supposedly, I should have the power to change on my own, but I have a… psychological block? The nanobots have helped overcome that, but…” Una trailed off, wrinkling her forehead.

“…but now they aren’t working,” Chinwe finished. Una nodded. “And you think this may relate to the Mesembrine, somehow?”

Una nodded again. “I don’t have any other explanation,” she said, spreading her hands wide, black claws extending. “Susan thinks it has to do with… guilt.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think Susan might be correct,” said Una, sighing. Her shoulders slumping, she stared at her claws as she retracted them again. “The Mesembrine attacked me with guilt. It made me relive a nightmare I’ve had many times, about a friend of mine who took his own life while we were in seminary. I found his body, hours too late, and lived with the horror of that for decades, or Father Michael Bellmont did. I suppose he had survivor’s guilt.”

“And what about Una Belmont?” Chinwe leaned back. There’s something here, in the disjuncture between her selves.

Una looked up, her yellow eyes meeting Chinwe’s. The succubus’ pupils were elongated from side to side, like a goat’s. “I try to live without Michael Belmont’s baggage, even though I remember his life as my own. It isn’t easy; he had a lot of regrets, and a lot of things he never dealt with, until I—until Yael came along.”

Chinwe wrote a few more words, and Una shot her a sharp glance. “Are you concerned, Doctor Adeyemi? That the way I refer to myself keeps changing?”

She shrugged and gave a small smile. “It’s something I’m curious about, of course. I can understand why you speak that way; you have his memories, and some of hers, but you think of yourself as a third individual who’s neither Father Michael Belmont nor the succubus Yael. Is that right?”

“Sometimes I don’t even know anymore,” said Una, frowning. “Am I an individual at all, or just a collection of borrowed memories and experiences, like the Mesembrine seemed to be?” She looked at her hands, which were balled into fist, the long talons digging into her own palms.

Chinwe watched as Una drew a thin trickle of blood, but said nothing. The doctor had seen worse; her patient wasn’t trying to hurt herself, but simply venting frustration. After a pause, Una continued. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just… someone else playing a part that’s expected of me. That I’m just acting like Una.”

“In that case… who would be the actor?” Chinwe’s own brow wrinkled. “Who’s the real you, Una?”

The succubus laughed ruefully. “It could be Michael Belmont, whose dreams of becoming a woman, of expressing his love for men, were so well-buried that he recoiled from them when the transformations began. Maybe I’m living out his fantasy.” She drew her claws along the undersides of her breasts, tracing the outline of each one through her gown and then across her cleavage. “Or maybe I’m really Yael, forgetfully pretending once more that I’m an ordinary human woman with demonic powers? What do you think, Doctor?”

The succubus’ gaze was piercing, with a gleam that Chinwe recognized as flirtation. “I think all of us—any self-aware being—are the sum of our experiences, our inclinations, our bodies. Yours are very complex and have many layers.” She kept any hint of emotion out of her voice. “Let me ask you, Una… how would you describe your personality if you were writing an entry in your own file?”

Una leaned back, placing an arm along the back of the loveseat. After a moment, she spoke. “Impulsive. Self-conscious. I try to do the right thing, and care for the well-being of the people close to me. I act on my desires and enjoy giving and receiving pleasure. My emotions are… intense, and I don’t like feeling controlled or manipulated.”

The succubus’ tail flicked back and forth. “I carry around anger, anxiety and guilt, but I try to channel those feelings into useful action, instead of letting them fester. At times, I’m easily overwhelmed, but I very much want to protect myself and everyone around me.” Una looked away at the rows of shelves behind Chinwe. “I have a fraught relationship with faith. Does that get at your point, Doctor?”

Chinwe smiled gently. “Perhaps. You don’t sound like either the profile of Yael or of Michael, although naturally the OSA has more information about Una than either of them. Is it possible you really are a blend of two beings? Would that be so strange?”

When the succubus didn’t respond, Chinwe continued. “Let me tell you a story about my name.” Una looked over at her, listening. “Chinwe is an Igbo name, given to me by my mother, who is Igbo—that is, from the southern part of Nigeria, near Cameroon. But Adeyemi… ah, that’s a name from further north and west, from Yoruba country. My father’s family had returned from Brazil, generations before.”

“They were Amaros?” Una asked, her tone curious. Chinwe suppressed a blink of surprise. The demoness knew more of Nigerian history—or perhaps Catholic history—than she’d expected.

“Indeed. Former slaves and freedmen, who practiced Catholicism, as so many did in the Americas, but also venerated the Orishas of their ancestors’ faith. My family had kept hold of their names, their language—and their beliefs. My mother’s people, meanwhile… they’d converted to the Anglican church, and phew! They are so religious.” She smiled, albeit with tight lips.

“I learned three languages as a baby. Everybody argued about what to teach me. So, I learned everything. Pulled in both directions, you know?” Una nodded, clearly following the parallel between their lives. Chinwe felt herself warming.

“My parents divorced when I was fifteen, and my mother moved to Atlanta. As you can hear, I still have a Nigerian accent. But I’m American too. You understand my point, Una. So many of us contain multitudes and conflicting facets of our existence. From our families, from migration, from struggles with sexuality or gender.” Chinwe paused, then continued, observing her patient’s reaction. “From encounters with the supernatural, of course.” She waited, watching Una.

The succubus looked away for a moment, and Chinwe saw her throat tighten. “I understand what you’re saying, Doctor Adeyemi. And I appreciate it—the reminder that God never leaves us alone to confront our troubles, that we all walk together, in a manner of speaking. At the same time, I must find my own path, and…”

She spread her crimson hands. “I’m not sure where the next step lies. I feel adrift, uncertain of myself.” Una closed her eyes, and Chinwe saw her jaw work, as if she were chewing over words. “But I also feel that there is a purpose to my odd journey, that I must discover my own next step.” She sighed. “Every path must travel through shadowed valleys, I suppose.”

Chinwe slapped her hands on her thighs. “Enough philosophy, I think! Let’s see if we can’t help your situation.” Una blinked in surprise, and the therapist continued quickly. “Your partner is a very smart woman, Miss Belmont. I suspect she’s right about your transformation. Tell me, why do you think you might sabotage your own attempts to heal?”

Una looked taken aback for a moment, but then her brow furrowed as she considered the question. Chinwe let her stew for several moments. “I would guess… it’s self-flagellation.”

“You’re punishing yourself, then?” Chinwe leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

Una tilted her head. “Not exactly. Doing penance for… well, any number of things that have come up. I may know logically that I’m not responsible for Andrew’s death, or the misery and destruction of the Mesembrine, or Cassandra’s struggles and anger. But I still feel… I don’t know. So caught up in all of that. Complicit, even when I’ve been a helpless observer—like I ought to be able to do something. And I mourn them, I observe their loss… with my own pain.”

Chinwe let out a long breath. “You have a strong sense of responsibility. Tell me, if this question makes any sense given your several selves: did you grow up with any siblings?”

Una looked surprised at the question. “As Michael Belmont… I had a younger sister, four years younger. We grew up together until our parents separated and we moved to different cities. We didn’t see each other much after that. And then…”

She trailed off again, looking out the window. “She died in a car accident. Just a couple months after she graduated from college.” Una swallowed hard, then blinked once.

“As for Yael, of course it’s hard to remember.” Chinwe nodded; she’d read Susan’s reports on the problems with Yael’s memories, covering such an enormous span of time that the demoness herself had described losing track of them like layers of sediment compressing into strata.

She closed her eyes. “Sometimes I feel as if all the ancient ones, the demons like Kyber, Qeteb, Adra and I are all siblings. Part of a huge, horrible family. And at least in my branch… well, Yael seems to have some mommy issues.”

Chinwe flipped through her folder. “Fascinating. Susan has notes on some of this, but if I may ask… who’s Adra?”

Una blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Adra? You mentioned that name along with the other demons. Do you recall anything else?”

“Really?” The succubus looked distressed and rubbed her brow at the base of her left horn. After a few moments, she shook her head. “No, nothing comes to mind. I don’t even know where that name bubbled up from.”

Chinwe wrote a quick note. “That’s okay. Let’s return to the subject of your blocks. Both you and Susan expressed concern about the… substance that you absorbed? And you said earlier that you ‘can’t draw it out again’; I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

Una nodded. “Perhaps I should simply show you.” She held out one palm, and her tail moved with sinuous grace to wind once around her arm. The bulbous tip, which tapered at the end like a blunt spear, lay across her palm. The tail’s motion seemed as natural and effortless as stretching a muscle or flexing a joint.

As Chinwe watched, the tapered tip of Una’s tail began glowing, as if lit from within by a sickly green light. Fascinated, the psychiatrist’s gaze tracked the tip as it swayed gently from side to side like a serpent preparing to strike. Una spoke her name, and she forced her gaze upward to meet her patient’s eyes.

Una’s expression had changed entirely; the solemn and preoccupied young woman of a minute before had been replaced by a sultry creature who radiated a sensual confidence that bordered on arrogance. The succubus’ smile was knowing and predatory.

“This is the essence of Nezz, Chinwe.” Dimly, she noted Una using her given name for the first time. “If you taste of it, you’ll obey every command I give you. I could tell you to get better sleep at night, or to strip bare and bring yourself to heights of ecstasy you’ve never experienced. Would you like that, Doctor?” The tail’s tip hovered closer and seemed to glisten. Una’s strange eyes, normally an earthen yellow, shone like polished brass, reflecting a faint tint of green light. Chinwe felt a wave of heat wash over her.

She licked her suddenly dry lips and cleared her throat twice before speaking. “No, thank you. I prefer to keep our relationship professional, Miss Belmont.” Her voice sounded weak and reedy to her ears, and she felt a stab of annoyance that Una could have such an immediate effect on her.

The succubus’s smile never wavered, but she let out a long sigh; the glow from her tail faded and Una lowered her tail. Her eyes lost their unnatural brightness, and her expression softened. She seemed tired and frustrated. Chinwe let out a breath, unaware that she’d been holding it. She reached out to the end table and took a sip from the glass of water she always kept handy.

Una’s voice broke through the sudden quiet of the office. “Probably for the best. I have enough complicated relationships as it is. Still, you see how easy that was. The Mesembrine’s energy entered me in the same way, but I can’t bring it forth on command.”

Chinwe coughed. “That demon—you and Susan both describe as a demon of despair, much as Nezz is a demon of control. Does that mean that its essence would…?” She trailed off, looking at Una for an answer.

Una nodded. “When the fluid essence entered my tail, it was as if the color drained from everything around me.” She shuddered. “I felt numb, dissociated. And I can’t imagine what contact or drinking it would do to someone else. Perhaps it would induce a kind of catatonia, or a suicidal depression.” Her face twisted into a grimace. “Or perhaps something even worse, but that defies my imagination.”

The succubus leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and Chinwe nodded. “If your powers, particularly your ability to control your body, respond to feelings of anxiety and responsibility, it’s not surprising that you’d repress that power. And, well…” She tapped her pen on her desk, considering her words.

“What?” Una asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chinwe sighed. “You’ve suffered quite a lot of trauma related to loss of control. So, you always have the ultimate weapon of control at the ready, even if you won’t use it. Even as a possibility, that lets you exercise your tendency to assume too much responsibility, and attempting to control the situations you’re in.”

Una looked taken aback, then annoyed, and finally chuckled ruefully, shaking her head. “Now I see why people refuse therapy in the same way they avoid the confessional. Examination by a skilled observer can cut pretty close to the bone, huh?”

Chinwe smiled back. “Despite the mosaic of identity and experience you’re dealing with, I felt you to be self-aware enough to handle an unvarnished analysis. I believe you have the ability to recognize and overcome these patterns. But I also think that you may need help.”

Una sighed and nodded. “Speaking of unvarnished, half of me wants to tell you to fuck off. But the other half knows from experience that you’re right. What do you have in mind?”

The therapist examined her notes. “The last thing you mentioned is those long claws. You haven’t been able to… retract them?” Una shook her head and held one hand up to display her talons before Chinwe continued. “Suppose this is yet another psychological reaction. What do you think might be going on?”

Una’s smirk was self-deprecating. “Aside from my subconscious believing I should resemble the image of a demon?” She shrugged. “I’m freaked out. It’s a fight-or-flight response, and my claws are out, just in case I need to protect myself, or Susan.”

Chinwe raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel you’re in danger right now? You seem calm enough.”

“Well…” Una looked out of the window again, and Chinwe could almost hear the wheels turning in her patient’s head. “I know I’m safe here. Logically, I know that running around town sporting horns, tail and claws will only attract more unwanted attention. But you must realize, Doctor Adeyemi—I have enemies like Nezz and Kyber who’ve made one successful attempt to abduct me in the last month. And now I’m working here, and being sent out on assignments that lead to even more trouble.”

She gestured towards the file on Chinwe’s lap. “It’s all in my file. I’m a target, and I’m a weapon that your boss wants to wield.” She ran her fingers through her hair, and her talons clacked against her horns. “No matter how much I know, intellectually, that I’m safe here, I can’t stop feeling under siege.”

Chinwe leaned back in her chair. “That’s a realist’s description of your situation, I’m afraid,” she said with a sigh. “Perhaps it would help to remember that you’re not the first person who’s had to live life on the edge of a knife. Whether we are refugees or soldiers, members of a persecuted minority or victims of abuse, we all have to learn to survive.”

Una nodded, her expression grim. “So what would you counsel, Doctor?”

Chinwe took a moment to regard her patient. Una Belmont, both vulnerable and formidable, full of anger and sorrow, sat up straight, chin up, looking her right in the eyes. Chinwe had to admire her bravery, but she also knew how fragile such bravery could be.

“Think about this with me as a fellow member of the helping professions… Sister Belmont, if I may call you that?” Her playful smile earned her a wan but sincere smile in return. “A young woman comes to you, on the run from terrible persecution. She’s so afraid that she’s tense all the time. You can see the trauma in how she carries herself.”

The succubus closed her eyes and nodded slowly. “Yes… I see what you mean.”

“She’s afraid of lashing out at those she loves and protects, too. A smart young woman, yes? She knows the harms trauma can bring and doesn’t want to inflict any more. And you sense she’s punishing herself for people she left behind, who she couldn’t help.”

Chinwe paused to see a single tear slip free of Una’s closed eyelid. “We’d have compassion for her, of course.”

“Of course,” Una said. She opened her eyes, which shone with moisture.

“I’m her therapist, but you’re her religious counselor. What would you tell her, Una?”

“That God has compassion for her, as well. That she must forgive herself, as God forgives. It may feel hard to believe that, but she should look into the eyes of the people she knows. The ones she protects and loves—to find forgiveness for what has happened, and a safe place to heal.”

Chinwe came forward and took Una’s hands in her own. The succubus started slightly, but didn’t pull away. “That’s good advice, Una. Can you tell yourself something similar in the voice of your heart? Maybe a little right now, in a moment of silence?”

Una nodded again and squeezed Chinwe’s hands in her own while she shut her eyes. After several breaths had passed, Chinwe spoke up again, softly. “Let yourself relax, child. It’s all right.”

From her shoulders downwards, the tension seemed to drain from Una Belmont like a slow, awkward tide; she slumped in her seat, and Chinwe could see her breathing deepen and slow. Then, to the psychiatrist’s surprise, a change began before her eyes.

She nearly dropped Una’s hands as the woman’s claws slid against her palms, shrinking and withdrawing into the shape of neatly manicured fingernails. The succubus’s horns seemed to sink back into her forehead, the red-brown ridges fading and receding into small nubs. Her tail twitched and withdrew beneath the folds of her skirt.

Finally, as Una inhaled and exhaled a last time, the surface of her skin seemed to ripple. Chinwe stared as Una’s crimson flesh lightened, her rose-gold complexion emerging from beneath her demonic hue like a swimmer coming up for air.

Una opened her strange, golden eyes and looked down at her hands and chest. A light dusting of freckles spread over the bridge of her nose and the tops of her breasts; the succubus smiled at the sight, then let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Chinwe. I haven’t been able to do that entirely on my own, but that was close. Do you have a mirror?”

Chinwe nodded and went to a set of drawers near her bookshelves. “You still have the scars, it seems. Perhaps you’re not done with them yet. Do they hurt?”

“They’re just sensitive. In a different way than the rest of my body.” Una accepted the mirror from Chinwe and looked herself over. “I don’t mind, at least for now. They make me feel stronger. Like I’ve survived something terrible and lived to tell about it.” She smiled wryly. “Which, I suppose, I have… several times over.”

“Don’t get so attached that you can’t change them.” Chinwe clucked her tongue. “Do you have any idea how many people would like to erase their own scars?”

“Are they ever really erased, though?” The succubus met her gaze again, a sad expression on her face.

Chinwe sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Many things about us can change, Sister. But we can talk about that more next week. I insist you see me again. You take Darjeeling tea with honey, I hear?”