Succubated!

Lagos had basketball courts, but they were wide-open places. Surrounded by palms and trees, open sky, and maybe an apartment complex off to the side. Reem had seen those basketball courts, though only in passing; there weren’t many. Mostly, the boys she knew back at home played football. Always football, talking about it or kicking a damn ball, she recalled, with a pang of homesickness. They call it ‘soccer’ here in America, don’t they? These people have to do everything their own way.

This basketball court sat in a narrow space—squeezed in between the beautiful residences of brown stone that lined the streets here. It was as if they had torn a building down, and the owner thought the lot better suited to sports. Reem scoffed. Who would replace a fancy building with a basketball court for teenagers to loiter in?

Loitering was exactly what she and Aidan were doing. Especially Aidan, who’d found an old tennis ball somewhere and was hurling it against a brick wall at one side of the court. Reem sat on a bench at the corner of the modest concrete expanse, watching the tall boy with a mixture of exasperation and fascination.

“Hey Reem… do you think I could play basketball with this?” Aidan asked, holding up the battered green ball after it ricocheted back from the bricks.

Reem rubbed at one of her eyebrows with a thumb, hearing the embers crackle deep in her tightly coiled cloud of hair. “Aidan. That is a tennis ball. It’s for playing tennis. What kind of ball do you think you use for basketball?”

Aidan shrugged, tossing the ball up and catching it. “Dunno. This seems like a good size, though, doesn’t it? Goes right in the hoop.” He demonstrated, lobbing the ball at one of several metal hoops set high on the fence around the court.

It bounced off the rim and landed in a puddle, and Aidan swore in dismay.

“You also need ten players for basketball, I think. Or maybe twelve! Why do you want to play basketball anyway, silly boy? I thought we were going for a walk.” Reem stood and stretched, feeling the tension in her back and legs.

They’d both agreed that they’d lose their minds if they stuck around the Haven any longer. The adults seemed happy enough for a restful week reading, joining art classes, working in the local garden, or whatever else people did at a community center. But Reem and Aidan, no matter their differences, were young and restless. The idea of sitting around and waiting for the government or some other authority to decide what to do was maddening.

They’d set out to explore the streets around the Haven, found the pizza parlor that Maria said was the best in town, got food, and then wandered aimlessly. Now they were here, but Reem wasn’t sure exactly where “here” was. The West Village was a maze of streets that bent around on themselves. A little like the west end of Lagos Island, Reem thought, but I’m too nervous to ask these Americans for directions.

Aidan glared at the waterlogged tennis ball, then fished in his pocket to produce another ball, small and white. “Aha, I knew I brought this for a reason. Watch this, Reem!”

“Aidan. That is a ping-pong ball, you can’t—” She stopped as Aidan threw the ball into the air, whistling a shrill tone as he did. From a nearby building, a pigeon swooped down and caught the ball in its beak, then flew towards one of the basketball hoops. Reem watched in disbelief as the pigeon dropped the ping-pong ball in an arc towards the basket.

It missed, or seemed to at first: the ball bounced off the backboard. Then Reem saw it: a rat, perched on the rim of the basketball hoop near the backboard. The rat scurried across the hoop, grabbed the ball awkwardly between its jaw and front paws, then plummeted into the net. The ball fell to the ground, while the rat clambered back up the netting, squeaked angrily at Aidan and scampered off along the guttering.

“Damn,” said Aidan, scratching his chin. “He wasn’t supposed to fall in. Gotta practice that some more.”

“What was that?” Reem demanded. “You are making the city wildlife do tricks for you?”

Aidan shrugged. “I have to impress you somehow, don’t I?”

Reem’s face grew hot, and she felt a flash of anger, mixed with a thrill that ran straight up her spine. “Do you? Well…you’re terrible at flirting.”

Aidan’s expression grew defensive. “All they got around here is squirrels, pigeons and rats, and none of them are real friendly! It’s not much of a place for an animal-talker…”

Reem sighed. “Then why are you still here, Aidan? Why don’t you go home to your family?”

He just shrugged again, a gesture that made him seem younger, like a sullen teenager. “I just… I can’t. I don’t know how I can help you, but I want to, and I want to stick around.”

“You want to… help me?” Reem’s voice rose in surprise, and Aidan nodded, his face earnest.

“You’re getting better at control, Reem. I saw it when we fought that manticore. Your flames protected you and burned that thing’s tail! And those fireballs… you were, like… on target, Reem!” Aidan’s voice had a note of excitement that made Reem shiver.

Her powers had been a source of anxiety since she’d arrived on this continent—since well before, though in Nigeria she’d been in the habit of hiding them more than using them. Reaching for her flames made her feel like a pot of oil on a stove, the temperature slowly rising until she was likely to boil over. Her anger was like a fuse leading to the dynamite at her center, ready to explode at the slightest provocation—or at times, no provocation at all.

She shook her head, feeling doubts flood back in. “Nobody even noticed the fireball. It was you who saved the day, Aidan. Big buck deer…” she spread her arms antler-wide. “Wow!”

Aidan’s expression turned serious. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. Look, I’ve never met anyone like you, okay? Back home, everyone knew me as a freak, but you’re a whole new level. And we could be freaks together!”

Reem’s mouth opened and closed, her tongue searching for words. “Freaks together, huh? Is this your idea of flirting again?”

Aidan’s eyes widened. “Oh, uh… I just meant… you should practice with me! Look, try something right now. This basketball court’s empty. It’s a perfect spot.”

Reem raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t deny that the idea of letting off some steam was appealing. Not to mention the chance to show off for Aidan, too. She walked towards the center of the concrete expanse. “Okay. I can give it a shot. That’s the expression here, isn’t it?”

Aidan grinned. “Great. I’ll be the defender!” He picked up the ping-pong ball from where the rat had dropped it and began juggling it between his hands. The pigeon from earlier was back, perching on a lamppost above Aidan, watching with precise, birdlike interest.

“You sure you can handle getting singed, American boy?” Reem raised her left hand, fingers curled slightly, and concentrated. A tiny flame appeared on her index fingertip, then another at her middle finger. The fire was hot, but she’d learned to harness it, to focus it through the channels of her body. She drew in a deep breath, feeling the heat rise. All five fingers burst into flame.

“I’m an Ojibwe, not just an American. And for you? Happy to get a little crispy, but maybe I should throw it in the air? On three, all right?” Aidan’s confidence in her made Reem feel like her stomach was doing cartwheels. He wants to see my fire? I can show him my fire. She clenched her hand into a fist, the flames dancing up her wrist, then opening again to reveal her hand unharmed by the flickering fire.

“One,” Aidan called out. Reem focused on the ping-pong ball and on the hoop behind him.

“Two,” Reem heard him say. She extended one finger, sighting along it. Flames circled around her arm and torso. She felt the energy build inside her, like a wave rising.

“Three!” Aidan shouted, throwing the ball into the air. Reem thrust her hand out, a blast of heat erupting from her fingertips in a cone of fire. The ping-pong ball disappeared into a ball of flame and smoke as her blast hit, then fell to the ground as ash.

“Whoa! Holy hell, that was awesome, Reem,” Aidan exclaimed, clapping his hands. Reem felt herself smiling in satisfaction, but she also felt the heat continuing to coil inside of her. Oh no, I built up too much, she realized.

“Damn, what the fuck was that?” Both Aidan and Reem realized they weren’t alone. A lanky boy with slick black hair and a New York Knicks jersey was leading a trio of friends onto the other side of the basketball court. He looked a little younger than them, maybe in his late teens, but carried himself like a cocksure bully. “That some kinda fireworks? Five-O’s down the block at West 4th, if you’re looking to get cuffed.”

Reem felt her heart sink. She didn’t know much about New York, and she did not know who Five-O was. But this guy looked like trouble, and she could feel her temper rising. She turned to Aidan; to her surprise, he was smiling openly.

“Yeah, I was just setting off an M-100. Left over from July, you know?” He walked towards the group, casual but confident. Reem hurried to follow, unsure what was going on, but unwilling to look weak in front of these newcomers.

“M-100?” One of the others spoke up, shorter and stouter, but wearing the same type of oversized shirt and shorts as the leader. “Doesn’t smell like gunpowder.”

“Yo, check out her hair! It’s on fire!” A third boy, this one sporting baggy cargo pants and an oversized cap. “That shit ain’t natural!”

With horror, Reem realized he was right. The excess heat she’d built up was dissipating through her hair, causing chunks of her kinky coils to glow faintly. She could feel the heat rising, and the strands of hair beginning to radiate warmth like embers. “Oh shit,” she murmured, patting at her head with both hands. “Oh, shit!” Her hair was as immune to flame as the rest of her, but it could be a beacon. She felt her cheeks grow flush.

The lead youth stepped forward, staring at Aidan’s face. “Damn, I knew it. You’re twists, huh?”

Aidan’s expression grew hard. Even a tribal kid from Minnesota had heard the slang term for people with supernatural abilities. The young man opposite Aidan tilted his head to one side, assessing him with an icy stare. “What are you? Some kinda shapeshifter? I bet you’re not human, are you?”

The last member of the group, a short, round-faced boy, laughed. “Hey, show us what you can do!”

Reem took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Sometimes, if she could control her breathing and focus, she could extinguish the flames. But she felt too anxious, her mind spinning with thoughts of what could happen if her powers flared up.

She tried to speak calmly to Aidan, keeping her eyes on the other boys. “Aidan… let’s just go, okay?” Reem tried to put steel in her voice. She glanced around; there were a few people passing by, but nobody was close. No witnesses, and no help, she realized.

Aidan’s expression remained fixed; his eyes locked on those of the other young man. “You wanna see some tricks, huh?”

***

John huffed as he raced down the sidewalk behind Una, who was carrying Niamh on her shoulders. Even if she didn’t look like a demon, her endurance is damn near inhuman, he thought as he maneuvered around an old lady walking her dog. Few people can race across half of Lower Manhattan… in a flowing cocktail dress and high-heeled boots… while carrying an eleven-year-old child.

Niamh pointed to the left, and Una turned onto one of the Village’s many small side-streets. They were walking back towards the Haven now, as if Niamh was following a trail her friends had left behind.

John nearly barreled into Una and Niamh as they stopped across the street from a small basketball court. He glanced up at the small redhead, whose eyes still shone with a milky-white gleam. “What’s the problem, Niamh?”

“There,” she pointed. John followed her gesture and saw two figures standing at the center of the court, facing off against a group of young men. Reem’s hair was smoking, while Aidan seemed caught up in animated conversation with the other boys, his hands moving expressively. John’s brow furrowed in worry as he saw one youth step closer, his fists clenching as if preparing to swing at Aidan. “I didn’t make it in time,” Niamh moaned in distress. “Not again.”

Una’s eyes flashed, and she set down the girl gently. “Stay back,” she told Niamh, then turned towards the street.

John held his hand up, and Una paused. “Hold up,” he said. “Just watch for a second.” He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the situation ahead.

One thing about being a pastor across a few different New York neighborhoods, you get pretty good at sensing danger. And this looks like trouble brewing. The group of four boys looked like wannabes. Reem looked nervous, but not panicked, and Aidan seemed poised but relaxed.

“I think we might be jumping the gun,” John said, his voice low. “Let’s see how it plays out.”

Una nodded, her tail flicking in annoyance. “Fine. But I’m going in if anyone so much as feigns a punch.”

The youth with slick black hair stepped up into Aidan’s personal space, their noses inches apart. Aidan laughed awkwardly and nodded, lifting his hands up. He broke eye contact with the other young man and said something to Reem.

The Nigerian girl with the gently smoking hair said something that started with “You want me to…?” Her accent was as clear as her annoyed tone, and John winced. But then she lifted her hands, and a coruscating halo of orange flame surrounded them, from wrists to fingers. The slick-haired youth’s mouth opened, and he backed up a step.

“Fuck this,” Una said, and started forward. John grabbed her arm, shaking his head and pointing with his free hand at the boys on the court, who were laughing in astonishment.

Reem stretched her palms out and tossed a small ball of flame into the air—then another, and a third. She juggled the fiery orbs with dexterous precision, her hair no longer glowing, but her face alight with concentration. Aidan clapped his hands and cheered, and Reem grinned back, her face flushed with pleasure.

The youths on the other side of the court applauded, and Reem stepped up her pace. Now the fire was hovering and dancing around her in ways that an ordinary could never achieve. The boys’ expressions grew rapt, and John saw the leader shake his head in wonderment.

Reem’s smile was dazzling as she sent the balls high into the air, where they burst into showers of sparks. “That turned around,” Una whispered beside John. “Good instincts as usual, Father.”

“You can’t do that on a public street! Someone could get hurt!” The voice was agitated, hoarse, and startlingly loud. John turned to see a woman who’d stopped a few yards away, staring across the street. She had a messy bun of brown hair and carried a large espresso drink in one hand while pushing a baby carriage in the other. The infant inside was asleep, John noted. Not gonna be for long if his mom keeps yelling, though.

The kids on the basketball court had stopped and were looking at this newcomer, their expressions ranging from confusion to annoyance. Niamh, who’d climbed on top of a tree planter, waved at Aidan and Reem; the dark-skinned girl lifted a hand in return, looking surprised.

“What the fuck you mean?” the leader of the boys called out. “This shorty is literally throwing fire and you complaining about safety regulations?!”

“Ma’am—” John began, but the woman was already yelling, turning her baby carriage away and standing in front of it as if to shield it.

“You’re all endangering the neighborhood, you know! You can’t do that sort of thing without a permit! There are rules!” Her voice rose in pitch as she spoke, and John could tell from the look in her eyes she wasn’t thinking clearly.

“You some kinda racist, Karen?” The slick-haired youth’s voice dripped with disdain. “We’re not hurting anything, we’re just having fun! Go mind your business somewhere else, lady.”

His friends hollered in support, one cursing at the woman while another insisted the fire was harmless. The woman’s face reddened, and she opened and shut her mouth, but nothing came out except an exasperated gasp. She reached for her purse and pulled out a cellphone. Lord have mercy, John thought. She’s going to call the cops.

Una stepped out from behind John and moved towards the angry mother. “Ma’am, there’s really no need for that, we can explain—” John cursed inwardly.

The woman looked up and seemed to notice Una for the first time. “Jesus Christ,” her voice dropped, and John could hear the terror creeping into her tone. “What is going on here? You people think you can just… walk around a residential neighborhood, terrorizing normal people?” Her eyes darted between the boys on the court to Aidan and Reem, then finally landed on Una, whose horns and burgundy skin were impossible to miss, even in the fading light.

John sighed and followed, raising his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture. “Everyone take it easy, we don’t need any trouble—”

The irate mother interrupted him again. “Trouble?! All of you people have been nothing but trouble since you showed up here, and I’m sick of it! I’m calling the NYPD and you can deal with them!”

John saw the boys on the court exchange looks of uncertainty. One broke away and raced out of the court, but the leader and his shorter sidekick moved purposefully towards the street.

“No, please don’t!” Reem’s cry rang out, her tone full of the anguish of a performer who’s celebrated one minute and watches everything go sideways the next. The woman with the coffee was dialing and holding her phone to her ear.

“Ma’am,” came a calm and authoritative voice. “No need to get the police involved. The good officers down at the 6th Precinct have their hands full with more important things, and I can explain everything.” Letitia Phillips, better known to the volunteers at the Bleecker Street Haven simply as “ma’am,” walked forward, stepped around Una, and extended a hand towards the angry mother.

“I’m Letitia,” she said. “What’s your name, dear?”

The woman hesitated, and her eyes flickered from side to side. “I… I don’t have to tell you anything. Who the hell are you? Are you with these people?” She gestured wildly at the scene across the street.

“Ma’am, do you know the Haven? Over on Bleecker? We’re a community resource center.” Letitia’s voice was calm but firm, and John noticed she was standing directly between the woman and Una, blocking her view. He shifted as well, standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Phillips and trying to look nonthreatening.

The woman seemed to calm down a bit, although her expression remained suspicious. “Yeah… I did prenatal yoga there. You… you work there or something?” She seemed uncertain, and her hand dropped to her side. The phone was off, John saw with relief.

“Of course, I run the place. These kids are practicing for our talent show tomorrow. I can assure you, we’ve got all the necessary permits, but I’m so sorry they disturbed you. They’re not supposed to be all the way over here, but our gym was full.” Letitia gave a reassuring smile, but John could see her eyes scanning the woman’s face, gauging how her message was landing.

“Oh.” The mother looked over at Aidan and Reem, standing near the three remaining youths. She glanced up at John’s face, then at his priestly collar, then down again to Letitia’s hand, which still waited for a handshake. “Sorry… I thought…” She trailed off.

“Sorry, dear. I didn’t catch your name. This is Father John Hayes, by the way—pastor over at St. Andrew’s.”

The woman took Letitia’s hand. “Kelly. Kelly Kramer. Sorry for… I guess I was worried about my baby.”

Letitia smiled. “It’s understandable, Miss Kelly. We’ll make sure they keep things under control. Why don’t you head home?”

Miss Kramer nodded, glancing once more at Reem before she turned to push the carriage away from the scene.

The slick-haired youth sauntered across the street towards Letitia. “Damn, Mrs. Philips,” he said in a stage whisper. “You got mad skills! A regular Karen-whisperer!” His companions laughed, but the older woman fixed him with a cool gaze.

“Jaden, if I see you causing trouble again, you won’t like what happens. I have your mama on speed dial.”

The young man blanched, and his companions laughed. John glanced at Aidan and Reem; the lanky animal-talker had his arm around Reem’s shoulders, but the girl looked a little dazed. He turned to say something to Una, but found only Niamh standing on the sidewalk.

“Lady Una said she had to leave,” said the little seer. “Oh, that’s not quite right. She said she should leave. She seemed sad, Father.” John craned his neck to look down the street past Niamh, but the succubus was nowhere in sight.