Edward Lee: Succubi

Duke’s revolver, he reminded himself.

“Wait here. I’ll need Duke’s gun too.” He went back to the dim foyer and peered down. The giant revolver still lay in Duke’s grubby, squab hand. Erik knelt, fished around in his adversary’s jacket for bullets, the—

Holy sh—

What he noticed in that fraction of a second was all that his destiny would ever amount to. Duke’s plaid flannel shirt lay in tatters, but there was no blood. Through the holes he could see smudged, pocked white and several balls of buckshot that clearly had not penetrated Duke’s torso.

Bulletproof v—

In one split-second motion, Duke’s left hand grabbed the shotgun barrel, and his right hand snapped forward. Erik froze.

The revolver was aimed directly at his face

Duke leaned up, grinning proudly as ever. “Fooled you again, huh, fairy?” he remarked.

«« — »»

Ann stood in the entry, letting the pulse of her thoughts slow down in time with her heart. The sweat of her fear sucked her clothes to her skin. Then the thought replayed:

Kin sacrifice. Melanie must murder me before she can become the demon…

Time seemed to congeal before her face; all motion, even the world’s, seemed to freeze. Ann sensed something but didn’t know what. She stepped down the short hall to the foyer. Erik Tharp knelt at the body, rummaging for bullets. Suddenly, he seemed poised, his joints locked up. Then—

—his skull divided into three segments

She never even seemed to hear the sound of the shot. She felt concussion, and heat, then Tharp’s head simply burst. Wet hanks of brain slapped her in the chest. It all happened so fast she couldn’t even react. Tharp’s body collapsed before a fine gray cloud of smoke…

And through that smoke, the figure rose: Duke Belluxi grinning behind the giant revolver pointed at Ann’s face.

—

Chapter 33

“So you’re the one,” the madman observed. The end of the gun barrel looked big enough to admit a thumb. “You’re the one he came back for.”

Ann stood taprooted in her terror. The chunks of Tharp’s brains fell off her blouse, leaving glistening stains. A piece of scalp, tufted with white hair, stuck to her forearm. Duke’s hair was the same strange color. He took a step forward, his grinning face broad as a carved pumpkin. Behind the closely set eyes, Ann saw sheer, raging madness.

“The cocksucking little fairy set me up,” Duke informed her. Old bloodstains streaked his pants. “He used me to help him bust out, thought he was smarter than me.” He veered the mad grin down and laughed. “How smart are you now, fucker?”

Ann’s mind swam. If she tried to run, he would kill her. But somehow she also knew that if she didn’t run—if she tried to placate him, bargain with him—he’d also kill her. She could see that fact. She could see it in his eyes.

“Tharp kept talking about destiny, like he was put on earth to do something special. He wasn’t shit. But me, I got a real destiny. Know what it is?”

Ann couldn’t reply, couldn’t even move.

Duke was all over her at once, wielding his massive body with a nearly eloquent finesse. Ann screamed as he dragged her to the floor by a handful of hair. As his weight sidled onto her, so did the meaty, fetid stench of him. He straddled her chest; she could only squirm within herself. His mad eyes focused down. Chuckling, he tore open her blouse, snapped off her bra. Then the chuckle shrank into a demented stare. Ann gagged when he drooled into her mouth. His breath grew short as he traced her nipples with the revolver.

“You’re gonna be my best nut yet,” he promised her. “Oh, yeah, you sure as shit are. I can tell just by lookin’ at ya.”

He opened his trousers and withdrew himself. Suddenly, his stench stupefied her. Dried blood matted his pubic hair.

Then he plugged the revolver into her navel.

“That faggot Tharp, he used to blow me for quarters. Always makin’ phone calls. He was calling you, wasn’t he?”

Look at the moon tonight. Ann remembered the words. She nodded tensely.

“Why?” Duke Belluxi asked, and pinched a nipple.

Doefolmon, she thought. Fulluht-Loc.

Duke laughed. “Doesn’t matter none to me. Now, don’t take this personal, honeybunch, but it’s best if you’re dyin’ slow while I’m boppin’ ya. Gives me a better nut—know what I mean?”

Ann tremored in her paresis. Duke cocked the big, clunky revolver, growing erect in time with his pulse. Through the front bay window, the moon shimmered pinkly.

Ann prepared to die. She closed her eyes

Then the awful weight was gone.

Ann turned where she lay, looking ahead. Duke Belluxi was being dragged across the carpet by…something. Ann caught glimpses of faces, flesh. Duke thrashed as he was pinned to the floor by quick, snatching hands. Abruptly, he was screaming in hoarse bursts. What’s happening? Ann dumbly wondered. She felt in shock. Duke’s heels and palms pummeled the floor, his body arching up. Two fingers sharp as masonry nails sank promptly into his eyes. Two more clawlike hands ripped his trousers off. Ann could only stare frozen at the dreamlike sequence of horror…

Two shapely, concupiscent bodies knelt over Duke with grins like shards of glass. A long taloned finger raised a skewered eyeball to a needle-toothed mouth. The eyeball was eaten whole, like a grape. Humor was licked off the elegant finger. Lust-swollen breasts shined over the atrocity. Ann could only continue to catch glimpses at first. Pale pendants swayed as Duke’s body twitched with vigor. The figures persisted in their delighted butchery—Duke’s abdomen was laid open, exposing glistening organs. Blood flew like spaghetti and sauce. The closest figure grinned down at Duke’s genitals. A mouth like a knifecut in fresh meat opened heinously wide; rows of glassine teeth sparkled. A moment later, the mouth lowered, gritting down. Duke’s penis and testicles were quickly eaten out of the apex of his groin. A river of blood gushed onto the carpet.

Then the first figure’s mouth spread likewise. The top of Duke’s skull was bitten off. Orbs of brain glimmered. Duke Belluxi died in flinching convulsions, atop a blanket of his own blood and offal.

Holy Mother of G—

The two figures looked at Ann. They seemed amused. Ann’s mind crumpled at the impact of recognition. One figure straightened up on her knees, her nipple ends erect as coat pegs; she chortled, smearing Duke Belluxi’s blood over her breasts and abdomen like some luxurious lotion. The other figure was sloppily eating gobbets of Duke’s brains out of the cranial vault.

Milly. Maedeen, Ann realized. But…

It was something she apprehended rather than saw, a recognition that somehow reared beneath the tainted features: pronglike taloned hands and feet, elongated heads, bottomless, primeval eyes.

Not women, Ann’s thoughts verified. Things.

Maedeen rummaged for plump morsels amid Duke’s plundered gut, while Milly rather greedily slurped blood and spinal fluid out of the emptied skull. They paused only briefly to grin at Ann.

By now her incomprehension turned her limp. Laughter followed her as she was dragged away suddenly from behind. She was being helped up, urged out the back door into darkness. She was insensible.

“Come on!” a voice bellowed at her. Rough hands shook her at her shoulders. “Snap out of it!”

Ann’s eyes roved up, focused on the plump face in moonlight. It was Chief Bard.

“It’s tonight, Ann! We’ve got to get you out of here!”

Her awareness returned in pieces, in slabs. “What…”

“They’re succubi, Ann. They’re part of a cult that’s as old as civilization,” Bard told her, dragging her now toward the woods behind the house.