The Succubus

Meeting The Succubus

Lemure was tired, but determined to work through another pile of books and manuscripts in the North Tower library before leaving. It was almost three in the morning and he hadn’t slept well since arriving back from Venice. He became aware of the faint tapping of a pair of heels in the corridor outside the door behind him. Thinking it Rhiannon, he continued reading a book on seventeenth century Venetian history, hoping for a clue to their search. The noise stopped. He turned another page. The door opened, and the tapping start again, getting closer. He turned to the door. 

“Another cup of tea would be…”  Lemure stopped mid sentence. His throat tightened and his jaw dropped. 

“You!” He croaked, frozen with shock. Standing by the door, shrouded in a cape of black and gold was the woman from the casket. She threw back the hood and he gawped, hexed by her beauty; angular, slavic cheekbones, a strong slightly pointed nose, and succulent, pouting lips. Her large almond shaped eyes, a luminous, watery green, bore deep into his soul. Swathed in an explosion of blonde hair. Lemure sat motionless, bereft of thought or deed. Smiling she ran her tongue slowly across her upper lip and sashayed toward him.  

“You were looking at me in the casket, did you like what you saw?”

She was all around him, talking, carousing him with her words. The sultry, sensual tone of her voice reverberated inside his head. She spoke quietly, in a medieval aristocratic high French dialect. Having studied medieval French literature Lemure  understood most of what she said. 

“How?” Asked Lemure, his voice trembling.

“You wakened me.” The woman smirked, drawing a finger across her lip. 

“Please,” stuttered Lemure, pointing at a chair. “Please sit down.”

The woman slid into a chair and crossed her long, leather encased legs.

“Who are you?” Asked Lemure.

“I am Elizabet de La Valliere. I have come to serve you.”

Lemure shifted forward in his chair. She was an erotic pastiche of everything his imagination could conjure up in a woman.

“How will you serve me?” Lemure asked, his heart racing. 

“Come.” Elizabet stood and reached out a hand, “I will show you.” Unable to refuse, he let her lead him from the library into the corridor. Though he’d walked the corridor many times it was now unfamiliar. On they went, until they stood in front of a large oak door that looked out of place in the Museum’s old Victorian North Wing.

“Inside.” Elizabet pushed open the door and entered, beckoning him toward her. Hexed, Lemure followed. 

Coloured lights momentarily blinded him and he stumbled, falling forward. Getting slowly to his knees he looked around. On a circular stage in the centre of an oak panelled room stood a fairground carousel horse, secured to the stage by a large metal pole.Chained and stretched face down on the horse was Rhiannon, naked. A Gavioli fairground organ on the far wall started up, and a clown, blood oozing from its eyes, played the carousel waltz. The stage and horse began to slowly revolve; a bizarre fairground sex ride. As he watched unable to move, an aged harridan, dressed in SM gear walked onto the stage. Between her thighs swung a large, black dildo. She stood behind the horse, and rested the phallus on Rhiannon’s back. Holding the base of the dildo in one hand she looked over at Lemure with a toothless grin and, in one forceful movement thrust her hips forward and buried the silicone into Rhiannon’s ass. Caterwauling with pain, Rhiannon railed against the chains, unable to get free. The harridan thrust, withdrew and thrust again, all in time to the waltz, while cackling and together with the clown, incanted incomprehensible Russian poetry. 

With a grotesque lear, she pulled from the horse a rubber cat o' nine tails and  lashed Rhiannon’s back in time with the music. Lemure tried to move, but despite Rhiannon’s screams ringing in his ears, he was inexplicably rooted to the floor.

“You like what you see?” Elizabet had changed from the funereal to the female dominant. Wearing everything his imagination desired; sheer black nylons fastened taut on her upper thighs, with contrasting red tops and pencil seams. A suffocating tight rubber corset that trussed and disciplined her curvaceous frame. Her full breasts sat high, crowned by large rouged nipples pierced by silver rings, and joined by a chain that corralled them tightly together. Her platinum blonde hair was now glossy black, pulled back tight from her face and into a long, ponytail. She also wore a discipline collar, studded with a dozen long, metal spikes. 

She laughed, pirouetting sensually on her high heeled courts, and with her hands roving lewdly across her body. 

“It is all your own creation.”

Though puzzled by her words, Lemure’s eyes continued to gorge on her lithe body, and he didn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, give her comment another thought.

“Let me show you around.” 

Like a submissive pet she led him across the room by a chain and collar that had suddenly appeared around his neck. Set into each panelled wall of the pentagonal room was a full-length viewing window, that looked into a cubicle. If he had been capable of thinking straight he would have realized that the windows were a voyeuristic portal into the darkest recesses of his own libido.

Elizabet stopped before the first window. It was dark inside, but Lemure could see a bedroom lit by a single shaft of moonlight. Two glistening ebony bodies writhed on the bed, the woman thrashed and bounced atop the man. Like a small yacht caught in the eye of a violent storm, her frantic, swirling movements anchored by her lovers oiled penis, her chocolate coloured buttocks cradled in his large hands.

“Charmaine?” Gasped Lemure.

“Ah yes, your African Queen. Didn’t you know she had another lover to really satisfy her?” Lemure looked intently at the couple. Charmaine was now pinned to the bed, her ankles held wide, her lover’s cock driving in and out of her frothing sex, her face contorted in bestial pleasure and pain.

“I think we should move on,” said Elizabet, “we have one more person to see.” They left Charmaine in the throes of orgasm, her screams ringing in his ears, and moved to the next cubicle. 

He recognized the setting immediately. The rows of books, oil paintings and darkened oak panelled walls, could only be his Father’s study. Standing cuffed in a rubber maid’s uniform with her back to the window was a petite servant girl. He didn’t recognize her or see what she was doing in the study. His Father had never employed servant girls. 

He could hear his Father in the room, hidden by the back of a leather chair. The girl was crying. His Father, a giant of a man, rose from the chair and walked over to the trembling girl. He towered over her. Words were spoken and she bent at the waist, spreading her legs. Lemure realized his Father was about to thrash the girl and banged hard on the window. 

Elizabet smiled, “It is no use, he cannot hear you, it, is just a window on a moment in your time.”

The girl was crying louder, still cuffed and unable to move. She was receiving a severe lashing. Red wheals criss-crossed the girl’s buttocks and thighs, a sharp contrast to her pale skin. Happy with his work, Lord Ralston lay down the cane and stood behind the girl. Though obscured by his Father, he could see the maid’s hands were free, and Lord Ralston carefully spread them wide against the bookshelf. Stepping back, Lord Ralston dropped his robe. His naked, overweight body dwarfed the petite girl. Lemure watched on horrified as his Father gripped the girl’s hips with his huge hands, and thrust forward. Lemure knew from the girl’s screams what his Father was doing. He turned away in disgust, but a pull on his chain and a slash across his buttocks made him return. 

“Didn’t you know your Father fucked anything that moved?” Shrieked Elizabet, pulling Lemure’s chain chokingly tight. “Watch him!”

With the girl impaled on his Father’s cock and unable to move, his Father straightened his legs and lifted her screaming off the floor before turning toward the window. As he turned, Lemure watched the girl’s pert breasts, bounce and bob toward him.

“Oh my God!” He shouted,  looking at the girl’s tortured face. “Katherine?”

“Did you think your Father only fucked Lady Ralston?” Elizabet laughed, pointing at the screaming girl. “The beautiful daughter of your Father’s friend. She came to stay one weekend. You remember her, don’t you?”

Lemure remembered the coquettish 21 year old, Katherine La Salle only too well.

He wished he could do something. Katherine had stopped crying and was sobbing, with a look of submissive, resignation. She hung limply, impaled and held in Lord Ralston’s arms. Whispering in her ear, Lord Ralston began to move his hips in a series of languid, circular movements. Katherine’s green eyes closed tightly, and her mouth slackened. He rocked his hips and let go her thighs slowly, allowing gravity to control her painful slide onto the remaining four inches of his penis. Lemure could hear Katherine groan, and see fresh tears well up and roll down her face, but it made little difference to his Father’s unremitting rutting. Finally, glutted with ten inches of prime meat, Katherine hung from his penis like a tasty titbit impaled on a gnarled fondue stick. With Katherine unable to move, Lord Ralston carefully lifted and dropped her thighs, forcing her down along his penis. It looked a struggle at first — she was inexperienced and from her discomfort, had never ridden such a length or enwrapped such a girth before. Eventually, Lord Ralston’s unhurried efforts paid dividends. Katherine was soon rocking back and forth, sliding the length of his vein ridged cock, glistening with her juices. Her eyes were wide open now, her nostrils flared, looking at Lemure with a delirious gaze. He had seen that look himself, but he realized that it was his Father who had deflowered her on her first visit to his family home.

It wasn’t long before Lord Ralston’s fucking turned bestial and he threw her about the room, her small frame bouncing and jerking on his penis. With each thrust she shrieked, bucking and rolling her hips, but she had no hope of unseating this vastly experienced rider.

With a sharp tug of the chain, Lemure was forced by Elizabet to leave Katherine and his Father and move to the next window. The window looked out onto an alleyway, and standing spread against a wall in a corset and stockings, opposite the window was the Elizabet! Either side of her outstretched legs were two naked men, licking and caressing her legs. The height of her heels raised her derriere high and between the twin spheres, her engorged labia pouted invitingly, curling outward like the wet petals on a rose. 

“ I do like a good threesome,” said Elizabeth, watching intently. 

The men worked their way up her legs until they settled on her sex, probing and opening her ruddy lips. Soon their fingers, wet with her juices slipped back and forth inside her sex and anus.

“You wanted to fuck me the first time you saw me in Italy.” A tug on the leash pulled his face to hers. “Though I hadn’t bargained on that woman.” She stroked his cheek with a blood red talon and looked over at Rhiannon threshing uncontrollably on the plinth. “It can be quite surprising what I can dredge up in someone’s mind.!” She smiled and sensually licked her fingers. “I also see that you enjoy sex with several women.” 

From nowhere sashayed two tall brunettes, sheathed in a combination of glossy rubber and latex. They closed on Lemure, carousing and caressing his body, deftly removing his clothing. One dropped to her knees and swallowed his burgeoning cock whole and her edacious gorging made him gasp. Closing his eyes, Lemure groaned loudly before passing out. He awoke sitting on a metal chair, his hands secured behind his back, his ankles strapped to the legs. Rhiannon and her tormentor had gone.

“You passed out.” Elizabet’s face hovered above his. “We can’t have you missing all the fun!” She disappeared from his view, and reappeared wearing nothing but heels and hose. She laughed; a hideous, captivating laugh. 

“This will add to your pleasure.” In her hands she held a blindfold, and deftly she covered his eyes. There was a pause. Her hands went to his shoulders, and he felt soft wet flesh rub against his cock before a squeezing warmth enveloped him. As she sank down on the length of his cock they groaned in unison.

He tensed and she quickly withdrew from his cock., He felt a sharp pain between his testicles. She had grabbed him hard and squeezed his balls, painfully delaying his orgasm. It wasn’t long before the sucking warmth returned, and he slid back down her throat. But, this wasn’t normal fellatio. His penis started warm but then got hotter, until the intense heat radiated along his cock and into his loins making his testicles throb and pulse. He groaned loudly, looked skyward and spurted his semen deep down her throat. She didn’t flinch. The rhythmic movement of her throat continued—a hot, pulsing, tourniquet, siphoning him dry. 

It was as if his orgasm had opened up his consciousness to being drained, milked, and stolen from his body. His soul was disappearing down her throat!

“Lemure. Lemure, wake up!” A voice he recognized floated around the room and then he was gulping air. The next thing he saw was the desk in the library and the worried face of Rhiannon holding a mug of tea.

“Are you okay? Have you been here all night?” His heart pounded in his chest and his lungs burnt.  The intense heat between his legs had thankfully gone.

“I…I…must have fallen asleep. I remember looking through some old books and then…” Lemure looked at Rhiannon. A dozen images of her flashed across his mind. 

“And then, I must have woken up when I heard your voice.” He controlled his breathing. “The bodies are here?” He asked, looking worried.

“Yes, they arrived in the early morning, but how did you know?” Rhiannon gave him a puzzled look.

“I thought I overheard you speaking about them.” He quickly tidied the desk and packed his case. “No problem.”

“Aren’t you going to drink your tea?” Rhiannon asked, amazed that an English aristocrat would leave a freshly brewed mug of tea untouched.

“Of course, I nearly forgot, how silly of me.” He lifted the tea to his mouth and his hand shook. He steadied it with the other and gulped at the hot liquid, his mind racing. What crazy power did the woman in the coffin have over him? What was her purpose? Why was she communicating with him?

“I really must get down to look at the bodies, I have a couple of ideas about the woman,” said Lemure grabbing his case and making for the door. Rhiannon moved across his path.

“I will join you, Charmaine went out for coffee so I have little to do,” she said, looking at him intently, hiding her concern.

“Of course, yes, of course, you will have to show me where they lie.”

The lead lined coffins were sitting in the vaults of the Museum. They opened the crates and Lemure broke the seal on the coffin holding the woman. He hesitated, looking at the lid. Rhiannon saw him falter and took his arm. 

“Something happened to you in that crypt, you saw something we didn’t.” 

Lemure looked at Rhiannon and grimaced. “I don’t know what I saw.” 

His voice was low and full of foreboding as he lifted the lid. “Read this to her”. Rhiannon looked at the paper and started aback.’This is the Latin inscription from the casket?’’

“Please read it.” Lemure’s eyes didn’t leave the woman’s face. Taking a deep breath, Rhiannon hesitantly incanted the inscription.

‘Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.’

The woman stirred, but before she opened her eyes Rhiannon pulled Lemure from the coffin and sent him flying, crashing to the floor. She threw herself atop Lemure and covered his eyes. 

“No, no, don’t look at her!’ Lemure struggled, but despite his size she managed to cover his eyes. “Don’t! She’s dangerous!” 

There was a loud screech and a blast of icy air that chilled them to their bones, then the library door crashed shut, rattling the whole frame. Rhiannon fumed. More from frustration at not realising earlier the danger Lemure was in, than with Lemure himself. She sat astride him and grabbed his collar. 

“She is a Succubus! She was after you! I should have seen it earlier.” She trembled as she spoke, her knuckles drained of blood.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Her anger evaporated when she looked into his pale face, and sunken eyes. 

“I thought…I thought I was going to loose you.” Her voice faltered as she choked back a tear. Lemure smiled, and drew her to him. ”It will take more than a beautiful woman to pull us apart.” Through her tears, Rhiannon laughed and she clung to him, as if he was the last piece of floating wreckage on a heavy, turbulent sea. 

“I love you.” She hadn’t meant to say it, and with the full weight of the words hanging large above their heads like a gaudy speech bubble on a Liechtenstein painting, she felt acutely embarrassed. Lemure pulled her to him, and took her in a long and passionate kiss. Easing her away he looked into her tear filled eyes and grinned.

“You are so full of surprises!” They laughed together, Rhiannon more in relief than in humour. 

“What now?” He asked, rising unsteadily to his feet.

“We have to find her. God knows the damage she may cause.” They split up and followed her exit. After searching the Museum as best they could without alerting the Museum guards—it wasn’t a good idea to tell them there was a semi naked mythical creature masquerading as a stunningly beautiful woman, running loose in the corridors of the Museum—they decided, reluctantly to call a halt. 

It had been several hours and no sign of the woman from the coffin. With the Museum opening to the public within the hour, they went out to have breakfast. Rhiannon knew a small café a couple of streets from the Museum that was normally quiet. Deep in thought they sat in silence, nursing mugs of steaming tea. Rhiannon was the first to speak.

“When did you realize the woman was only sleeping?” She asked in a hushed voice.

Lemure felt her concern. They had been through so much together, but how could he protect her from what he had seen? With a deep sigh he leant forward and spoke.

“I am not certain of anything anymore, but I am convinced she wants the amulet and hand. Though trapped inside her sleeping body, her mind can reach out and manipulate people.”

“How?” Rhiannon’s puzzlement was obvious. He would have to tell her something of his dream.

“When you found me this morning, I was dreaming of the woman in the coffin. It was far more than a dream. She was using me. The last thing I remember is her leeching my very soul from me. You awoke me just in time.” Lemure looked embarrassed, hoping Rhiannon would not probe further. 

“What of the dream itself?” Lemure winced.

“She appears to feed off people’s fears.”

“Or desires.” Rhiannon smirked. “You really do not want to tell everything do you?” Lemure shifted uneasily in the wooden chair. Could she know of the lurid dream he had experienced?

“I will save your embarrassment. I believe she is a Succubus, a very ancient one at that. I too have been keeping things to myself, but I wish now that I had been more forthcoming and saved you a nasty experience.” She grinned at lemure, “or a pleasurable one?”

“You are kidding me?” Said Lemure, trying to suppress a nervous laugh. “She’s simply a mythical figure borne from medieval times to explain Monks wet dreams!”

Rhiannon put her hand on his shoulder. “She is real. She was going to suck you dry.” Lemure looked shocked and acutely embarrassed. Rhiannon suppressed a smile.

“How do you know all this?” He stammered, visions of his threesome in the cubical flooding back.

Rhiannon let her hand rest on his. “Charmaine and I have both had recent visitations in our dreams. They began after we opened the coffin in Abano Terme. It took me a while to figure out what was going on. You see, for you she appears in dreams as…” She faltered, looking at Lemure. 

“A very attractive woman, and for us she is the male equivalent, a rather hunky Incubus.” 

“Why you and Charmaine? If she wants me, why involve you two?”

“She was definitely after you, but only after manipulating our dreams could she find out about you, your weaknesses...and something else. She wants you dead, but I have no idea why.” Lemure looked thoughtful, and carefully stirred his tea. Rhiannon followed, stirring anti-clockwise.

“She was the woman organising the removal of Tepes and Gregor from the crypt wasn’t she?” 

Lemure nodded. “Yes,…I think so.”

Rhiannon tapped the side of her mug with her spoon and took a sip. She looked at Lemure and wrinkled her nose. 

“Even superhero’s get things wrong.”

Lemure sighed, looked skyward, rocked back on his chair, and putt his hands behind his head.

“Well, this superhero has woken a seriously, pissed woman!” He rocked forward, and shook his head. Rhiannon covered her hand with his. 

“We need help…I know just the person.” Rhiannon got up followed by Lemure. “Don’t tell me,” he said, arching an eyebrow, “you know an expert on mythical creatures!”

“Real creatures…Yes it so happens I do, and she doesn’t live far from the Museum.”

“She?”

“Yes, she is a relative.”

Once on the street, Lemure hailed a cab and they jumped in.

“Eaton Square,” said Rhiannon, receiving a cheery cockney affirmation in return. As they wound around the London streets the sun broke through the clouds.

“Here we are then, Eaton Square. Nice bit of real estate,” chortled the cockney cab driver peering up at the fashionable flats and houses on the Square. 

“You have a relative living here?” Lemure said, hesitating. Rhiannon forcefully took him by the arm and marched him up the pavement and into an apartment building. Standing on the ground floor, Lemure stared at a huge blackened oak door that looked out of place amidst the apartment décor.

“Trust me, I know what I am doing.” Whispered Rhiannon. Lemure looked far from assured.

Rhiannon made three large taps with a brass door knocker shaped like a serpent, and footsteps could be heard. A bolt was drawn and the door opened, ever so slightly. A wave of camphor, Channel No 5, old people smell and, surprisingly cannabis hit Lemure.  With his eye’s smarting he looked at the door expecting Cruella De Ville, or Miss Marple to appear, but thankfully it was neither. Instead, standing half way down the crack of the doorway was a little old lady. On seeing Rhiannon her eyes lit up and she flung open the door.

“My dear cousin, how good of you to come!” 

“Phenella!” Said Rhiannon, before hugging her aunt.

Rhiannon and Lemure followed the woman as she bustled down the hallway. Her hair was tied into a silver bun with what looked like chopsticks; clearly a family trait. You wouldn’t call her a midget, but she wasn’t tall either. Phenella was a rotund ball of a women, in her knitted purple cardigan, grey wool skirt and brogues. 

Sitting in the front room and with introductions over, Rhiannon looked at her aunt and uttered one word.

“Succubus.” 

At first the old lady didn’t move, and Lemure wasn’t sure she had heard, or had dozed off, but she suddenly picked up a pair of spectacles from the bundle of knitting beside her, fixed them behind her ears and gave them both a knowing glance before rising to her feet and walking over to a huge bookshelf full of leather volumes.

“Ancient or modern?” She asked, hovering over a line of purple leather books.

“Ancient.” Replied Rhiannon.

“Very worrying.” Muttered Phenella, getting a small ladder and ascending a couple of steps.

“Egyptian or Greek?” Again she hovered.

“Greek.” Rhiannon spoke firmly. Lemure was surprised at her certainty.

“Okay then, let’s see.” The old lady descended clutching two large, dark blue leather volumes. At the bottom of the steps she paused. For a moment, Lemure saw a worried expression flash across her face.

“You are sure my dear, we haven’t seen a Greek Succubus for many hundreds of years?” 

“She has a tattoo of Bacchus entwined with a serpent on a cross.” Replied Rhiannon. The old lady drew a sharp breath.

“Very, very worrying!” With Lemure’s help she carried the volumes and placed them on a large oak table. She stepped back and her small frame seemed to grow large and fill the room. She looked down at Lemure’s confused face.

“My dear young man, I owe you an explanation. I have spent my life researching and examining the legends surrounding Lilith, Lamiae and Succubi. They are creatures wrapped so tightly in myth it is hard to know what they are, whether imagined or real.” She lifted the first book.

“Was the serpent wound clockwise or anticlockwise?”

“Anticlockwise.” Phenella looked surprised at Lemure.

“I met her…I mean we found her.” His smile was met with a frosty expression from Phenella. It was as if a blast of coldness flowed out from her. She looked at him sternly. He felt like a guilty schoolboy standing before a very strict headmistress.

“Young man,” her voice was calm but fearful. “If I ever suspected you had been with a Succubus I would have your head in a pickling jar before you could blink.” She pushed her glasses back on her nose and returned to her book. After leafing through several pages she stopped.

“With or without grapes?”

“With.” Lemure and Rhiannon spoke as one.

“Oh my…Oh, dear Lord!” Phenella stepped back from the volume and fell into a chair. Pursing her lips she sat staring out into the garden, drubbing her fingers on the paisley patterned armchair. After a minute or two, she looked skyward and exclaimed loudly, “Oh MY!”

“Auntie, what is it?” Asked Rhiannon as Lemure arose and looked at the page. They gathered around the open book and Lemure read aloud the page. 

“Elizabet de La Valliere, a fourteenth century Hungarian noblewoman, and the Mother of…Oh God!” Stunned, Lemure looked at Rhiannon. 

“The Impaler is her bastard son!” The old lady nodded, and looked quite pale. Lemure continued. 

‘She led a life immersed in black magic and sadism. She once had the mouth of a servant sewn shut for being too noisy. After countless rumours about her behaviour, troops entered her Castle and uncovered a blood-letting in progress. All the servants that participated in her orgies of horror were executed and burned. The Elizabet being royalty, was put under house arrest.” Lemure looked at Rhiannon and then at the old lady.

“This picture…It is her. She’s not dead. We awoke her!”

Both Rhiannon and Lemure went back to their seats and sat in silence. The old lady shook her head and moved stiffly into the kitchen muttering. 

She reemerged carrying a tray laden with fairy cakes, pots of Earl and Lady Grey tea and willow patterned cups. 

“Young man, I think you need to tell me what this is all about.” Her poker face  matched her voice. The headmistress had returned, but this time she was carrying knuckledusters and a baseball bat. Rhiannon moved quickly to intercept her and help with the tray.

“And, young lady, how on earth are you involved with this creature?” Lemure wasn’t sure if Phenella meant him or the succubus.

They all sat down again and Lemure retold his Father’s story, and the quest he had undertaken. Rhiannon explained the Convent and how they all went to Abano Terme, and finally, discovering the woman in the casket, now known to be Elizabet. Phenella listened intently —  a simmering volcano — nodding and scribbling in a black leather note book and occasionally giving off a puff of steam.

The volcano had been subdued somewhat by the end of Lemure’s tale. 

“Well, my dear, it is clear she has latched onto Lord Ralston and will stop at nothing to get what she wants.” She looked at Lemure and her eyebrows meshed.

“You have told me everything. I mean everything!” She appeared to grow again, and her green cold eyes sharpened on his, burrowing deep into his head; two searing lights examining every corner of his mind.

“Her biggest weapon is sleep — yours.” Lemure winced. He knew exactly what she meant and where she was digging.

“For God’s sake young man,” shouted Phenella exasperated with Lemure, “she’s had sex with you, hasn’t she!” 

Lemure sighed, nodded and retold his dream. It appeared to him that the old lady took great delight in scribbling another raft of notes as the dream unfolded.

“I think you both need to bone up on your adversary. Here, a couple of books, but mind, they are old, and need a gentle touch. I need to walk fuddles.” Unexpectedly, Phenella smiled at Lemure. It took Rhiannon serious effort not to burst into laughter at her Aunt’s wicked bullying.

“Don’t worry, she likes you really,” she whispered.

“Like a Rottweiler likes a bone?” Muttered Lemure, feeling extremely bruised after his inner most secrets had been catalogued and systematically analyzed by her aunt.

They didn’t see Phenella leave, as for the next hour they poured over the leather bound volumes, taking notes and drinking tea. They only stopped when the door opened and the old lady walked in with fuddles.

“What the…!” 

“He likes you, don’t be such a mamby, pamby!” Said Rhiannon, laughing. It was hard not to feel concern. Fuddles had seen Lemure and launched himself at him sending the unsuspecting Lemure crashing to the ground. Pinned to the floor, Lemure stared up into a large furry mass with a mouth full of sharp teeth and viscous saliva. He had never met an overweight Caucasian Mountain dog before.

“Fuddles! Kitchen, now!’ The lady had grown large again. The dog turned to go but just before departing he licked the length of Lemure’s scar.

“Ah sweet! He really likes you!” Said Rhiannon gleefully. Lemure who was slowly getting up was not so sure.

“I am sorry about Fuddles, he does get a bit confused at times. Hence his name.”

Phenella took off her coat and untied her rain hat. It was bright and sunny outside, but she never went anywhere without the tatty bit of flower patterned plastic.

“Have you decided what she wants from Lord Lemure?” Asked Phenella.

“There is nothing in the books that explains her interest in Lemure, but I have an idea.” Rhiannon smiled at Lemure.

“Lemure was the first person to look into the casket right? Perhaps, through seeing him, she has been able to latch onto him and get inside his head—see things through his eyes, to experience what he experiences?”

The old lady patted Fuddles and looked at Lemure. 

“She certainly picked the right one for information if as you say your family have been on this quest for several centuries.”

“She could be with us now?’ Asked Lemure, looking worried.

“No, thankfully. Succubi can only manipulate when you sleep.” Phenella rose stiffly from the couch and led Fuddles to his bed in the kitchen. She closed the door and returned.

“The fact that she tried to kill you tells me your usefulness was over, she was having fun and you were to die.”

Rhiannon looked at them both and grimaced. 

“She knows everything about the bodies and the hand. We will have to move them again.”

“But where?” Asked Lemure, “and what happens when I sleep?” 

“Wait here Lemure, I need to speak to Rhiannon alone.” As she beckoned Rhiannon to the kitchen she saw the look of concern on Lemure’s face. 

“Trust me, it’s for your own good,” she said closing the door.

Inside the kitchen, Fuddles was in his bed chewing on what appeared to be a cooked leg.

“You can use this to your advantage. You can set a trap and kill the Succubus. But, you will need to find her lair.” The old lady had a wicked glint in her eye that belied her years.

“He’s admitted to ‘habens nexus’ with this woman in a dream. What he doesn’t realize that she was physically close to him, when he dreamt. I belief the next time they meet it will be in the real world. She wants him for herself, so the only way she can, is to literally suck his soul from his body during orgasm. But,” the glint in her eye returned, “she becomes very vulnerable at that moment and can be killed during coitus by cutting off her head.” 

Rhiannon blinked, and spluttered. “Really? By cutting off her head!” Phenella nodded. “Got a friend who can wield an axe?” 

Rhiannon immediately thought of Charmaine. “Yes, I know just the person.”

Lemure sat in the lounge, wondering about what they were discussing. He believed he was helping the Vampyre race, but he felt he’d become their weak link, their albatross. The kitchen door opened and Phenella and Rhiannon walked out.

“You must hide the bodies again,” she said, going to Lemure. “I will give you a book to help with the sleep problem.”

“Why are you being so helpful?” Asked Lemure. “You’re not Nosferatu?”

The old lady looked at him sternly, focusing on him the way a bird of prey does before it attacks. But, then her face softened, and she smiled.

“I know what you are. My family have been associated with your kind for centuries. We know all about your Father and his quest. We have been watching your progress too.” 

Lemure’s expression was one of absolute puzzlement. She glanced at Rhiannon and continued.

“There is an equilibrium, a steady state that existed between humankind and Nosferatu. That steady state as you surmised is being challenged. Your Father saw the early signs and by chance came to my niece at the British Museum with his findings. She has kept me informed of your progress ever since.” 

Lemure looked at Rhiannon who winced, and shrugged her shoulders.

“She acted with the best intentions.” He smiled warmly, and extended his hand toward Rhiannon, speaking softly.

“I know.” Rhiannon squeezed it and let go. The old lady raised an eyebrow.

“I did not think I would see the current events unfold so quickly in my lifetime, but it is clear to me that you are the one most likely to succeed in securing the steady state. However,” she continued, pointing a bony finger toward them both. Her eyes flitting between them both. 

“It is far more complicated than we imagined.” She cleared her throat and looked poker faced at Lemure. “This book may save your life, and my Niece’s. Please read it before you both go to sleep. Be assured Lord Ralston, we will meet again.”

—————————————

They sat silently in the taxi back to Lemure’s apartment. It was Rhiannon who spoke first.

“I am sorry,” she said, looking at Lemure for a sign of acceptance. He just sat looking out on the rain filled roads and the people going about their business without a care for the weight he felt pressing down on his shoulders. Rhiannon turned away and looked out the other side.

“No, I am sorry. I am sorry I dragged you into this.” Lemure spoke quietly, in a voice full of despondency.  

“I should never have involved you.”

Rhiannon turned, took his head in her gloved hands and looked deep into his green eyes. “It was my choice, and I would gladly do it again, but for God’s sake, share your burdens with me!” She spoke, choking on the words, tears welling in her eyes.

“How can I share with you…you’re…”

“Not a Vampyre?” They looked at each other and a tear rolled slowly down her cheek before she brusquely wiped it away. 

“From the very first time I met you, I knew I would fall in love with you. Don’t ever imagine I haven’t thought about crossing,” she spluttered angrily, a flood of tears cascading down her flushed cheeks, until she hid her head in his shoulder and cried mournfully.

The taxi driver’s voice broke the silence, “Chelsea Mews guv. Twenty-six quid please.” Lemure paid the taxi and helped Rhiannon from the cab.

The apartment was warm, and Charmaine was in the kitchen preparing lunch. They removed their coats and Lemure went into the kitchen. Rhiannon found a chair and after composing herself, opened the book. She read the chapter marked by her Aunt.

How to Deal Successfully with the Attack of A Succubi

Sleep is a Succubi’s preferred domain. She has the power to control and influence the Dreamers world. Manipulating dreams and creating a world in which the Dreamer believes he or she exists and can be killed in.

However, for the Dreamer who has read this chapter, the attack of a Succubus can be thwarted, and if need be, turned to their advantage. With a few simple guidelines, the hunted can become the hunter.

Things You Should Know;

An attack drains the Succubi of energy. It cannot be sustained for more than an hour. Plenty of time to kill the uninitiated, but enough time for the knowledgeable Dreamer to survive and exploit.

Similar to the infinite number of dream possibilities, so an attack can take as many forms.

The Succubi must make the Dreamer believe they are awake. A favourite weapon is to use familiar objects, friends and enemies. 

Things You Must Do;

Partnering. You must sleep in rotation with a close friend who understands what is happening. Their dreams will most likely be manipulated in order to get at you.

Sleep at odd times. A Succubus needs to prepare an attack, and expects you to sleep at night. A hurried attack can be easier to repel and turn. Agree on a method of waking. In the event that you fail in your dream, you need an automatic method of awakening. Of the small number of successful repels, the most productive is to be awoken continuously every hour and thirty minutes. The downside is that this can be suspicious. It alerts the Succumb to an irregular-sleeping pattern. It and should only be used with other techniques. You must cause the Succubus so much harm that they are reluctant to manipulate your dreams again.

Lemure walked into the lounge with two steaming mugs of tea. Rhiannon took a mug and continued reading.  Lemure took a seat and stared out of the french windows. Sipping his tea, he looked forlornly at his  small vegetable garden.

It was Charmaine who eventually broke the ice. Covered in a thick black cable knit sloppy joe, she waltzed into the living room complaining about the British weather. Rhiannon looked up.

“It is awful,” she concluded. “It makes me sad.”

“Me too,” said lemure, “It makes me feel despondent.” 

Rhiannon looked at him. “Perhaps it’s time we stopped talking about your quest and simply got on with it?” 

Lemure smiled. “Agreed.”

Charmaine dropped into a chair and looked at the book Rhiannon was reading.

“History book?” 

“Sort of” Replied Rhiannon, not looking up.

“It could save our lives,” whispered Lemure. “Let me explain.”

Lemure explained their visit to Rhiannon’s Aunt, and the Succubus’s dream visitation. Rhiannon joined in, explaining what they could do to prevent the Succubus attack. She was careful not to mention how she was to kill the succubus.

Over dinner they formulated a plan of defence. They would sleep in pairs, waking every three hours. They developed a fake story about where they had stored the bodies of Gregor and Tepes to feed to the Elizabet.