Albert's pages

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Hi! I’m Lisa (pronounced “lissa”), sole daughter of Lilith and Satan, thus part succubus, part demon. Afraid this shows in my fashion sense. Deal with it.

I live in the mortal plane, I can go Down There, and ascend to the ethereal plane, but not Up There.

Last year, Fred’s soul went AWOL and I had to go to Hell and back twice to heal him. That was a breeze…

… Also: in all probability, I’ll be killed within the hour.

Welcome in my world!

I was attending the death vigil of a family friend. I mean I’ve know his family for generations. I’ve even… known… some of his ancestors. Not him, though. Just didn’t happen.

When his soul left his body, it looked at me. Then screamed. Then flew Up.

Departing souls usually don’t scream. I should go Up There and ask this one what caused it to freak out like this.

Except I did inherit Mother’s permanent Heaven ban (which I hate because I don’t think she or I did anything wrong).

On the other hand, Father can talk to the Creator, or try to, at least.

I guess I’ll have to pay him a visit and ask him to intercede.

That ugly bastard will gloat.

Yeah, we’re a happy family.

I can’t believe it! He made me promise to take Lilith — Mother — with me on the mortal plane for one whole week!

The worst part is, it’s not even selfish. He did it for her, not himself. He’d do anything for her.

But hey, he’s sent a request Upward on my behalf, so there’s that. He even agreed to ask them to send their answer directly back down to me, so that I won’t need another round trip Down. How they’ll do is anyone’s guess, he said.

As all I could do was wait, I went home, where a ghost was circling my flat’s living room. I recognized Thorne’s soul.

‘You’re supposed to suffer in Hell, not haunt me.’

‘I was released with an answer for you.’

‘Makes sense. So, what did my friend’s soul see?’

‘Impending death for you.’

‘Can’t say I’m surprised. Is your former host up to something?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How about we go visit him?’

‘I am not allowed to.’

Oh well.

The butler let me in without even a word and led me to the study where Thorne was at his desk reading some papers.

‘I’m just passing by. Are you scheming to get back at me?’

He looked up.

‘Still to the point, I see. No, I am not. After I lost my soul, I soon lost all personal motive. My… selfless… self… has no interest in payback any more, nor in anything about me, really. I still manage the estate only so that its employees remain paid.’

Thorne seemed to have weathered the loss of his soul.

At least he was in better shape than Fred, who had tried to cope with loss then recovery of his soul by throwing himself into work, and ended up with a burnout, and last I knew, was finding comfort with some sort of guru.

Still, it was probably best if I went and checked with him. After all, if I was in danger, maybe he was, too.

… or he wasn’t and I was going to draw danger to him.

Although… I make it sound like I’ve got nothing to do with Fred’s current sorry state, and that’s dishonest.

To bring his soul back, I had to make it succumb to my succubus self. I promised him I wouldn’t, er, do my part. I also told him we’d talk about it later.

But I never did. I left him with the dangling prospect of me potentially snatching his soul from his trembling fingers, so to speak.

That probably didn’t help.

Should death do us part, as it were, I owed Fred a talk about us.

And anyway, the Thorne payback dead end didn’t leave me much else to do.

I found Fred at his place, with his “spiritual guide”, who introduced himself as Saint-Germain. Either this guy was several hundred years old and very well preserved, or that was an assumed name.

Before I could even suggest a private talk, Fred told me Saint-Germain knew all about us.

… Ah.

So I told them about my friend’s soul’s scream and my “impending death”.

‘The Malleus and the Formicarium only say how to repel a succubus,’ said Saint-Germain, ‘but I’ve been told the Fortalitium lists ways to kill one. Well, “to have one arrested”, but that would mean “to kill”.’

‘Didn’t know that about the third one. Ways, you say? Hmm. I was aware of only one way to kill me, and I am pretty sure no one can use it against me.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Fred interrupted. ‘can you, or can’t you be killed?’

‘Killing me is possible, but that requires using a specific thing which I’m positive no one has.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because it’s one of a kind and right now it’s in a dressing drawer in my flat, and because anyone trying to lay their hands on it without my leave would need to be insanely skilled at magic, lest they get a free ticket to the nearest morgue.’

I turned to Saint-Germain.

‘Are there any copies of that book?’

‘The Fortalitium? There’s the one in the University archives, four blocks away.’

‘Can it be borrowed?’

‘I doubt so.’

‘Discreetly?’

‘Stolen, you mean?’

‘Well, It’d be returned once the whole thing is over. But I’d like to read it for myself and stunt any access to it.’

‘The university isn’t a fortress. I happen to know a way in through cellars.’

I smiled.

‘Do you really live in some flat?’ Saint-Germain said.

‘What? Oh, yes. Managed to get my hands on a condo with a lakeside terrace. Makes for glorious sunrise morning breakfasts.’

‘Seems quite… mundane.’

‘I’m fine with mundane. Even got a paying job. And before you ask…’ I added maliciously, ‘it’s certified accounting. I’m good with balance sheets. Just because I’m a succubus does not mean I have to play it to the letter.’

But Saint-Germain was not listening to me, and neither was Fred. Both were looking over my shoulder.

I turned and faced a ghost. An old one, judging by its disheveled state. A I focused on it, it let out a piercing banshee shriek and flew toward me.

I didn’t flinch, for two reasons. First, a few grams at most of ectoplasm cannot hurt; and second, in its state, it was straining itself beyond disintegration. It turned to dust before reaching me.

I turned back to Saint-Germain and Fred.

‘Did you see it?’

Both nodded.

‘Hear it?"

‘No,’ said Saint-Germain.

‘Yes’, said Fred.

‘Figures,’ I replied, ‘your soul trip must have made you more sensitive. Well, you should expect to see and hear more and more of these if you stay around me.’

‘Do you know what they want?’ asked Saint-Germain.

‘Not really. For all I know they might be trying to go Carnival of Souls on me.’

‘Anyway, back to the university archives. Haven’t they got intrusion detection?’

‘They don’t seem to imagine preventing access, beyond banal locks, for which keys can easily be procured. However, and understandably, they do have fire detectors. Do you ever smoke?

‘Did in my younger years, but I quit as soon as I realized it would hurt people who were close to me.’

‘… I meant producing smoke as a succubus.’

‘That’s what I meant too.’

We agreed to wait until the week end, to avoid meeting any students on our way in or out of the building, so I went home. But I could not stay put, so I went for a walk around the lake to clear my thoughts.

Because upon reflection I couldn’t get why that second ghost had rushed me. I mean, I might be responsible for a few souls leaving their bodies, but not many of them had stayed behind. Most had gone straight Down There. And not by my fault.

The week-end has come, with a much awaited Saturday morning sunlit breakfast on the terrace.

Sparrows mill around, hunting for the bread crumbs which I generously cast at them.

I like birds. Descendents of creatures who were once given the whole Earth to roam freely, until someone went ’nah, the monkeys will do better.’ I can relate.

Also, few other animals tolerate my company. Which, in the case of Chihuahuas, is a bless— a gods— a good thing.

I spend the day doing the usual chores. I like my place clean, if not tidy, and even a succubus needs clean clothes.

I exit my flat around eleven PM. I check that the small ornate disc on the out side of the door is in place. It’s a seal, kind of like a scarecrow for supernatural creatures.

And of course, when I turn around to call the elevator, there’s a ghost in front of me.

‘News of my impending death?’ I ask.

‘Tonight’, comes the answer.

Fred’s alone at his place.

‘Saint-Germain went to the university library. He’ll open the cellar doors.’

‘Good. Now take this.’

I thrust a long wavy dagger with an engraved hilt into his hands.

‘Is that the thing than can kill you?’

‘That’ll be safer here. Find a hiding place for it. Even I should not know where you put it. I’ll wait outside.’

After a few minutes he comes out with his coat on, and walks to his car.

‘I’ll drive you there.’

‘Ok.’

As we drive toward the university, we pass the cemetery. There’s usually a couple souls there, those which haven’t resolved to move on yet, drifting around their body’s grave.

This evening, they have gathered at the gate.

‘Looks like they think something is going to happen soon,’ I say. ‘Maybe it would be better if you and Saint-Germain sat this one out.’

‘Only Saint-Germain knows where the book is.’

‘You don’t need to come.’

‘I want to.’

Fred parks the car on the side of a big building. Saint-Germain is waiting there, a keyring in hand, near a stair that leads down to a service door.

I look at my watch. Twenty to midnight. If something happens today, by custom it’ll be at midnight, right?

Saint-Germain leads the way with a torchlight. Fred follows, then I. Some doors open at once. Others require a key. One, he stops at.

‘Problem?’ I ask.

‘Er… I think this one bears a spell.’

‘Can you tell what spell it is?’ I ask.

‘I don’t recognize it,’ Saint-Germain replies.

I move to the front to have a look at the seal.

It’s almost abstract, but I make out wolves revolving around one another.

‘Weird. That looks like a sigil to ward off werewolves. But what would they do he—’

A silky sound interrupts me.

I look down.

Through my sweater, I can see, protruding from my chest, slightly on the left, the tip of a long, wavy blade.

I turn to the two men, look at the blade tip, then stare back at them.

‘Guys… You’re killing me.’

I reach backward and effortlessly pull the dagger out.

‘Have you looked around yourselves? These corridors are empty, the echo here is huge. I could have heard your whispers from two doors away. You might as well have shouted in a cathedral.’

Fred looks frightened, and pained, and his hand is shaking. But Saint-Germain looks terrified.

In fact, Saint-Germain would be less petrified if I had suddenly sprouted a hole hairdo of snakes.

I mean, he did know I’m demonic, right? Fred told him…

… Wait.

I smile. Fred has seen me smile this way before, and now that he knows who I am, he gets an idea of things to come, and steps back.

But I’m focused on Saint-Germain anyway.

‘You utter fucker! You thought I’d conned him and I was a mere mortal! You knowingly pushed him to murder!

‘I mean, I knew you were a fraud the second you said the Fortalitium explained how to kill succubi. It doesn’t. I should know: I proofread it! Talk about a happy accident.’

I start walking toward him while I keep talking.

‘So you were a scammer, and Fred was an easy mark. You’ve siphoned his bank account dry, I suppose? And then we meet, and you think I’m competition. So you decide to crush the competition. Better yet: have Fred do it.’

‘What was your plan if I’d died here as you expected?’ I ask. ‘Convince Fred to give you yet more money, allegedly to buy plane tickets to some extradition-proof place, but then zip away with it and leave him to shoulder the whole mess?’

‘Lisa…’ Fred interrupts.

‘WHAT?’ I say, turning to him.

His eyes are on me. And in his eyes I can see two red dots. Reflections of my eyes, burning inferno-style. Yeah, well, that happens when I’m angry.

I take a deep breath. The dots in Fred’s eyes subside. I turn to Saint-Germain again.

‘Alright. First, you’ll repay Fred for his entire loss plus ten per cent as, aha, punitive damage. And remember, reckoning is my thing, so I’ll know if you stiff him.’

He breaks out of his stillness, fumbles for his phone, and taps feverishly.

I eye Fred, who fishes his own phone, fiddles a bit, then nods hesitantly.

‘Good. And now…’

Saint-Germain starts shaking.

‘Now, you will go and make amends to everyone to whom you caused grief, from the first one to the last, in that order. I’ll check on you. In your sleep. You better be able to show progress every. Single. Time. NOW START.’

Saint-Germain trips over himself rushing away.

‘It’s my turn now, right?’ Fred says.

‘Oh, don’t be stupid. I gave you the dagger. I knew you had it under your coat. I made you stab me. I can hardly blame you for doing so.’

‘Also: I hereby officially forgo any claim I might still have on your soul. Don’t expect anyone from Up There to contact you about this, though. You’ll have to do with my word.’

Fred seems relieved, but also contrite.

‘I should have trusted you back then. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s alright. But you do owe me, though.’

‘W… what…’

I point at my chest.

‘A sweater. You’re in for going shopping with me next Saturday afternoon.’

‘Oh! Er… Alright. I guess.’

We finish our breakfast and exit Nettie’s just when street lighting turns off.

Time to tell each other goodbye and head home. And sleep.

‘So… See you in one week then?’

Fred frowns.

‘What? Oh! Yes. The sweater. Of course.’

I raise an eyebrow.

‘Promise?’

He smiles apologetically.

‘Promise.’

Then I remember. Speaking of promises…

‘By the way, Fred… Would you mind if my mother joined us for shopping next Saturday?’

THE END

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