Chapter Text
Lūkul was a simple creature. To most humans, it seemed normal, a small woman with big brown eyes and pale skin. Her tight headscarf hid wavy chestnut hair. Lūkul dressed as a pilgrim: a long green dress covered with a modest wool robe and a cowl. A belt at its waist held what a human would have needed to survive. The demon needed no such tools, and they sat a little too pristine on its hip.
Countless humans, mostly men, had fallen to its charms. They all wanted to be special, to be the one to make a woman on the path of repentance fall again, to see what lay under the layers of fabric where only God should have tread. Lūkul left each and every one of them a sad husk, fatigued for weeks after with no reasonable explanation.
So when Lūkul found itself a few days walk from Paris, it was not surprised to see a scholar from the capital city seminary in the corner of a roadside inn. What was a bit surprising is that the scholar did not smell like prey at all. She smelled of faithful wife, of untouched maiden, of true believer. She smelled of frankincense and river water. Normally such a human would ignore Lūkul or give it a simple hello. This human was watching Lūkul like it was prey.
Lūkul got bread, wine, and cheese from the barkeep. It ate, though the food provided no sustenance. It pretended to say grace quietly. The inn was larger, packed with all manner of travelers, mostly peasants on their way to the capital for business. Wooden tables clattered with wine cups and trenchers. Dogs sat at their masters’ feet. Humans chattered at each other like squirrels or songbirds. Several wenches were moving about serving soup and small fare to the patrons.
There was plenty of good prey to eat, and Lūkul knew a hay bale out behind the stable where no one would notice it feeding once the stable boys had gone to bed. The moon was waning, almost new, and the darkness would make for excellent dining. How badly it wanted to drain some foolish man of his cum. Their seed dripped with life force in a way even blood could not rival. For now, the sun painted the sky orange and pink, a countdown to damnation for some unlucky soul.
The succubus was about to rise and approach a middle aged balding man when it felt a hand on its shoulder. It was the scholar from before. The woman leaned down and whispered into Lūkul’s ear.
“ In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, in nomine El Shaddai, coniuro te quod per me labores, et adimplas meam peticionem ex toto sine periculo anime et corpus mei et satisfacias in rebus omnium. ”
It took every ounce of the demon’s will to keep its human form.
“Necromancer,” it hissed.
The woman rose to her full height, smiling. “Let us talk somewhere private. I have a room upstairs. You will follow me quietly and without incident.”
Lūkul had no choice. With an irritated snort, it followed the conjurer up the stairs and down a hallway until they reached what must have been one of the nicer rooms at the inn. A fire was chattering in the hearth. The necromancer sat on the bed.
“Close the door and come stand in front of me.” Her command was firm, carrying weight despite the high, youthful pitch of her voice.
Lūkul felt its body move of its own accord. The door was even locked by the succubus’ own hand, as if the body needed to obey out of some disgusting love rather than compulsion. It stood before the necromancer.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, I am.” Lūkul answered, pouting.
“Kneel.”
The demon did so. Standing, it had to look down at its temporary master. Now, it looked upward slightly into a pair of bright green eyes. A brown hand the color of brone filigree cupped the demon’s cheek. The silver ring she wore burned into Lūkul’s skin.
“You will eat when I say you can eat. Show me your true form.”
This, the succubus did gleefully. Perhaps if the necromancer saw its flesh, it would be released to go suck off baldy downstairs. Pale peach gave way to brutish red skin. Its eyes went from brown to yellow, the pupil becoming catlike. Its teeth grew sharp; its tongue forked. A lion’s tail emerged from under the robes, lashing back and forth angrily. Goat horns rose from its head like a broken crown, breaking through the skin right in front of the wimple’s bright linen crease.
Lūkul looked up with a grin. It’s voice became smooth and deep, relaxed. “Does this please you, conjurer?”
“It does.” The human cupped the succubus’ face in both hands and took a deep whiff of its skin. She reached back and removed the headscarf, revealing the still-brown hair in braids. Hair pins were removed and tossed onto the floor until Lūkul’s hair fell loose. So much for its plan.
If Lūkul had been a human man, it might have enjoyed the long, luxurious unveiling of its locks by this woman. She had a serious manner, but her fingers were deft and deliberate. As it was, Lūkul smelled no sin, and it pouted. The human buried her fingers in the demon’s hair and brought their lips close.
“I have work for you.” Her voice was lowered, secretive.
“A deal?”
“No. Deals and agreements happen between equals. For you, I have work.”
Lūkul snorted, her tail flouncing about to show displeasure. “What?”
The human released the demon’s face. “The local nobleman’s wife keeps having miscarriages. I believe one of your kind is causing it. You will come with me to their home and aid the midwife.”
“Am I to go without eating for 9 months?”
“No,” the necromancer replied, “but I will feed you when it pleases me. You will not feed on anyone else except me until I release you from service.”
“Won’t your God remove his grace from you if you lie with a demon? If you ruin your chastity?”
“Staying faithful to God is my concern. Your concern is the health of this child.”
Lūkul sighed, irritated. Its brow furrowed. “I can’t disobey you.”
The human smiled. “You can’t. But I would much rather have your cooperation in this than to have a servant who is constantly trying to weasel out of their duties.”
With that, the woman removed her scholar’s cap and tossed aside her outer robe. As the orange wool landed on the bed, the smell of road dust came up out of it. She leaned forward, buried a hand in the demon’s hair and began to pray under her breath.
“ Exorciso te creatura ignis, per illum per quem facta sunt omnia ut statim omne phantasma eiicias ut nocere non possit in aliquo. ”
Human lips met those of the demon, soft meeting soft, frankincense meeting musk. Lūkul felt something new, refreshing, awakening it from within. Where other necromancers over the years had bound it with what felt like chains, this felt like a gift. The succubus was left dizzy.
The human continued. Her lips stayed close, and Lūkul felt the breath of her prayer on its lips. “ Benedic Domine creaturam istam ignis, et sanctifica ut benedicta ,” she drew a cross on the demon’s forehead as the word benedicta passed her lips, “ sit in Collaudacionem nominis tui sancti, ut nollo nocumento sit gestantibus, nec videntibus per Dominum nostrum Iesum Christum .”
The cross burned much like the ring. Lūkul was expecting it, and was able to stay still. After the prayer, another kiss, but this one filled it with some fresh desire, a new hunger. This human didn’t smell like prey. She smelled better somehow. Lūkul moaned.
When the necromancer pulled away, her cheeks were flushed. “Now for names. I need yours. You’ll hear mine whether I like it or not soon enough.”
“Another kiss, and I will tell you.”
The human replied by pressing the ring into the side of the demon’s neck. “ Tetragrammaton .”
The good feeling left, and ice filled the succubus’ veins. It stifled a scream. The previous burning had been just beyond the point of pleasant. This was only misery.
When the ring was removed, the human pulled the demon’s face up to meet the yellow eyes. “Give me your name. I would much rather feed you than punish you.”
“Lūkul.”
“Lūkul, are you lamashtu or lilitu?”
“Lamashtu.”
“Then know that my master has conquered yours, and so you are thrice bound to obey me. God made you. Pazuzu bound you to his will. The one true God has rendered your master impotent through the grace of his only son Christ Jesus. By his power you will obey me. You will be honest in all your dealings with me. You will not harm me.”
This wasn’t the usual historiola. Lūkul hissed. “How do you know all these names?” By invoking its father, this conjurer had gotten a firmer hold on the demon than most.
Too often humans mistook the Lilin, motherless night winds, for her own kin. The stone tablets that held this should have become dust millenia ago. Yes, her cousins also flew in on night winds to take men’s seed and curse their babies. However, lilitu also liked to feed on the pride of untested rulers, which lamashtu found to be bland food.
The necromancer pulled Lūkul from her stunned reverie. “That is not for you to know. Now hand me your outer cloak without rising off your knees.” She released its face.
The brown cloak was handed over and set down by the orange robe. It looked even more plain next to the embroidered edges of the conjurer’s clothing.
The human demanded more clothing be removed. The cowl. The belt. The dress. Lūkul sat red and resplendent in her undergarments, plain linen over her legs and chest. The modest chest protection was removed to reveal pert breasts. No scars were left on the succubus. It was forever a maiden, no life lived, only a leech on human happiness.
The demon saw desire flash across the necromancer’s face. This would normally be when sin would enter a human heart and it would be able to cast illusions and charms over the prey. No sin resided in this human, only heat.
The human crossed herself. “ Accipe Domine sanctitatem odoris incensi et dimitte virtutem tuam super nos celitus, ut possimus desiderem nostrum adimplere et ad effectum perducere in Collaudacionem nominis tui sancta per omnia secula seculorum. Amen. ”
Her tunic came off, showing linen underthings. Where Lūkul had small breasts loosely protected, the scholar had hers bound tightly. She revealed her breasts and stood to lower her tights. It was then that Lūkul scented the want that lay wet and hot between the conjurer’s legs. It was the new smell, the smell better than sin.
“Sit cross-legged.”
It obeyed, and when the human sat on the demon’s lap, it felt natural. Of course the new smell would come to Lūkul. It was going to eat. The human finally moved in ways that made sense. A hand went to grab the hair at the base of Lūkul’s neck. The other rested on its shoulder. The human brought their lips together again.
“ Sanctus Dominus Deus, ” came a whisper. Her breath smelled good, so good, and Lūkul felt itself lean up to take the breath from the human mouth before it could stop itself. Lūkul braced for pain, but none came. The human deepened the kiss. The demon ran her hands up the conjurer’s meagre, delicate back. The scholar’s body was weak from years of reading, delicate as a heron in the pond.
The kisses rolled together. One became two became ten, all peppered with this prayer, this “Sanctus” alongside all the old names of the most high that Lūkul had been chained by over the centuries. Every magician tried something new, and every one of them died. Lūkul could not be chained forever. This, however, felt as if it reached back inside it and fed something deeper. It wanted to know this.
When the succubus reached underneath to massage the human’s rear end, she melted. Leaning in, putting her whole weight on the demon, the necromancer clung to Lūkul in earnest. The demon’s cheek met with the plump breasts of its captor, and it began to suck. This was familar, natural. The rigid scholar was becoming a woman, another body to feed from.
The prayers became stifled moans. The necromancer began to stutter and hiss through her prayers and offerings. Lūkul had a good nose and the scent of its dinner was becoming overwhelming. The demon forgot for a moment all the burns and holy names and began to claw lightly at the bronze skin of its new master. Another long, low note of want and hunger rose out of its chest.
Master didn’t seem to mind. She spat out a half-whispered, “ S-sanctus Elohim !” and then pulled the demon’s head back by its hair. “Your hand. My sex. St-start slowly.”
Wait. That scent. It almost missed the undertone of ocean salt with all the excitement, but Lūkul knew this well. The necromancer was a virgin. Oh, surely this fool human was about to lose her state of grace! All it had to do was take her, and she would lord no more power over it.
A warm finger explored the human’s entrance. The necromancer stiffened. Lūkul pressed a finger in. “This will be uncomfortable. For you.” It did not hide its glee in this small revenge.
The human snarled, her lip curling, but permitted the demon its joy. As she was penetrated, her eyes rolled back. The succubus chuckled. How quaint. A single digit and the woman felt full. Lūkul moved its wrist, leaning forward to take an umber nipple in its mouth.
The conjurer struggled. Her face and neck flushed. She leaned back on the bed for support. The succubus played the human like a lute, fingers easily massaging open the untouched cunt. It worked until it could get a second finger in. The conjurer was a mess, holding her hand over her mouth to keep from making too much noise. Her brow furrowed, and her wet sex gave away her body’s delight at the contact.
Under other circumstances, Lūkul would have enjoyed the lingering aroma. As things were, it opted instead to push the necromancer to sin, to toss the human carelessly overboard into a sea she could not swim out of. Fingers curled upwards as its red arm pumped slightly, slowly.
The human’s eyes widened. Had she never felt this before? Lūkul almost cackled. It loved the taste of fresh human.
“Master,” Lūkul made its voice as silken as it could, “May I eat? Allow your humble servant to place you on the bed and eat?”
The necromancer huffed. “I permit you to feed from me once this night.”
With permission, Lūkul was able to lift its captor onto the bed, legs splayed, cunt wide and wet. Its eyes glowed, pupils widening, mouth watering at the scent. It descended upon its meal.
The church Latin babbling from the conjurer’s mouth descended to bestial moaning with every clever slip of Lūkul’s tongue over the tender lips. The succubus wrapped her arms around master’s thighs, savouring the taste of this soon-to-be-damned woman’s slick lubricant. The prey called to its God over and over in a multitude of languages, but Lūkul knew it wouldn’t help. Lust was a sin before Jehovah. No manner of excuses or fancy prayers would change that.
The conjurer came hard, back arching, hands reaching for Lūkul’s red wrists. The demon inhaled sharply, expecting to absorb the energy released at the critical moment, expecting the same satisfying feeling of water that wasn’t water filling its vessel.
Instead, the conjurer gave Lūkul something new. The demon sat back on her heels, face covered in cum, entranced. It licked its face and hands as if tasting food for the first time. The flavor was the same, but the feeling was different. Instead of a raw magnetism toward the carnal gift it hunted as a way of being, this was gentler. It was fuller, somehow, and yet not overly so.
The magician sat up, catching her breath. She muttered some words of thanks to her Lord so softly Lūkul didn’t catch it.
No matter. It was free now. The demon smiled. “Thanks for the meal, foolish human.”
“You aren’t allowed to leave this room until I go down to breakfast in the morning.” The reply was matter of fact, calm. The human still thought she had Jehovah’s grace.
Lūkul rolled its eyes and redressed, taking its human form back on. Looking once again like a hapless wide-eyed pilgrim, it reached for the door handle.
The door didn’t open. Lūkul huffed and tried the key in the lock. It unlocked readily. The demon tried the door again, but it was stuck. Rather, Lūkul told its arm to move, and the arm would not pull the door.
Irritation crawled all over it. The night screecher turned to look at the human, who was standing at the bowl of water washing herself.
“Why do you still have power over me?” The question was a demand, haughty.
The human looked at Lūkul with pity in her eyes. “I am a faithful servant to my Lord. He has seen fit that I use you for his work.” The green of her eyes was warm like the scrubland bushes of home, and the succubus felt a pull to go and rest there, though its annoyance was more prominent.
“Your Lord hates sex.”
“He does not.”
Lūkul bit down on a claw, thinking. ‘ This must be some new human trick. ’
The conjurer donned a tunic and tights, breasts unbound under the clothing, and walked over to Lūkul. “I see you are troubled by being in forced service.”
“Nothing likes being a slave, not a thing in all creation.” Lūkul had served enough necromancers to know the effect of the magic. It was a compulsive honesty, one that could be resisted for a short while, but never fully. The demon’s frustration was plainly visible.
The magician smiled. “It’s true. I am able to serve my Lord fully because I chose it. You will always have reservations in serving me.”
Human hands took Lūkul’s fingers up, and a small kiss was placed on the now peach knuckles. Outside, the night had come, leaving only the stars outside the window. The fire cast long shadows in the room, dancing like the succubus’ siblings in unexplored corners of the dwelling.
The human spoke softly. “A fire must burn. A wolf must hunt. I will ask you to burn, to eat, and to hunt. I will not ask you to worship me like a dog nor to cleanse like water. You are what you are, and I have work only you can do.”
Lūkul felt the warmth again, and the idea of spending some decades feeding from this odd new master wasn’t that terrible. Humans were frail and easily led to sin. They died quickly and often.
It huffed, pouting. “I suppose you need to sleep?”
“In a bit. First I must study and pray.”
The demon rolled its eyes so hard they almost fell out of its skull.
--
It was half a day’s walk from the inn to the keep, a large stone building that housed a small aristocratic family, their servants, and a small peacekeeping force. There were outer walls made of stone creating a courtyard where goods and arms were kept. Lūkul heard the magician mention names, but it had forgotten them before the words finished leaving her mouth. The rest of the walk was quiet. Lūkul hated its quiet captors much less. The ones who prattled on for hours never lasted as long, but made the time go by that much slower.
She idly remembered the one jailer she had during her time in Southern Kemet, before the Muslims took over the north. He had been quiet, older, skin dark like obsidian. A priest of some bird headed god, the old man had found a tablet relating the legends of Lūkul’s creator and used it to call the succubus to him. For what grand purpose? Company. He didn’t even stop it from going off to feed at night so long as it targeted people who were healthy and in their prime. He simply kept the demon there by daylight as he went through the repetitive tasks of his position. Keen, quick fingers counted grain and beer from laborer’s reports. Eyes the color of night with an inner glow of wisdom looked over clay tablets he used for recording messages. Incense had to be made, prayers recited, vestments washed. He did it all with great attention and no complaint save his loneliness.
Perhaps this master would be similar. She had the same quiet demeanor. She did not revel in Lūkul’s suffering. If so, there would be no great rush to escape. A year or two, and then it could escape easily.
The magician led Lūkul into the courtyard. Lūkul smelled the young soldiers amongst the veterans, easy prey with great flavor. As she was internally bemoaning her liability to easily lead the men to sin, she heard a vital piece of information.
“Father Sancho! It is good to see you.” An older woman greeted Lūkul’s master. The magician exchanged a handshake and cheek kiss that was customary to the region.
“It is good to see you also, Lady Fausse. How is your daughter?”
The older woman sighed, wringing her hands, “We have kept her in bed at your request, but she is impatient and nervous. I am sure seeing you will lighten her spirits.”
“I will go see her as soon as I am presentable and have had a bit of water. For now, I will introduce my assistant, Jeanne.”
So Lūkul and its master were using fake names. Lūkul turned on its charm and curtsied slightly. “A pleasure.”
“Any helper to Father Sancho is a welcome guest here. My cook will lead you to the kitchen for some food and water.”
“Water will be plenty. We are on a fast until sunset.”
The rest of the day was boring. Water from the kitchen. Some pregnant woman in a bed surrounded by luxury and yet deeply sad. They were shown to a room to prepare for dinner. Lūkul was commanded to eat with the servants while master ate with the landowning family.
Nobody smelled like master. The rest of the humans smelled of different sins. What it smelled the most was pride, but this was to be expected in a wealthy family.
Thing only became interesting when “Father Sancho” asked it to come to the pregnant human’s chambers. The woman had been drugged to sleep and all the other humans sent away. There, with only a few oil lamps to keep the room lit, master closed the door and stood by the woman’s bed. Hay colored hair draped her shoulders as she slept, skin pale as porcelain.
She smelled like pride and wrath and envy. Boring. Tasteless.
“Are we being listened in on?” the necromancer asked in a whisper.
“Of course, master. Two at the door and one upstairs. There is also a secret passageway behind the tapestry.”
“Alright then. She has had 4 miscarriages. What do you make of it?”
“She’s boring. There’s nothing for me to eat.”
“And?”
“And I want to go eat.”
“Come here.” The order was sharp and clear.
Lūkul came expecting the ring, the pain, the cold. Instead it was pulled into an embrace. The scent was far more enticing than the lusty youths of the keep. Again, the fog of boredom and anger cracked for a moment with some unfamiliar heat.
The magician whispered. “Did I not feed you?”
“You did.”
“I will not let you go hungry. Hunt for me, and you will be fed.”
“You cannot ask a falcon to catch venison.”
“Fortunately,” master ended the embrace and caressed Lūkul’s cheek with her thumb, “You are far more talented than a mere hawk. You don’t have to dispose of whatever or whomever it is. Only tell me what you see that I do not.”
It sighed and walked over to the bed. Again, it looked over the drugged woman.
“None of my kind would hunt her. Lilin also do not hunt here.”
“I imagine it is useful for a fox to avoid a wolf’s hunting grounds as a kestrel must avoid the hawk. How would you tell if you were hunting in another’s territory?”
“My kind do not have such things. Others do, but they would not leave their mark on her.”
“Where would we check?”
“The front door, family heirlooms, the nearest graveyard, the well.” Lūkul rattled off a few ideas only to turn and see its master nodding.
“Very well. I will place a protection on her. Tonight, you will search the home. Tomorrow, we will search the grounds.”
The succubus’ feet led her out of the room before she could even think to protest. Fortunately it did not have far to walk. The scent of something spoiled wafted about the halls, and the pilgrim’s robe made the demon nearly invisible to humans, so eager were they to take the illusion at face value. Following the scent, Lūkul came to the entrance hall where a small relic sat inside a glass container on the wall. It was a scrap of fabric, and it wanted something. Lūkul gated the smell. Most desire smelt of wet earth or fine spices. This smelled of ammmonia, harsh and stale.
Having completed its task, the demon felt her feet relax, no longer moving without its will. It was free to feast on the soldiers in the courtyard. The magician had done nothing to stop it from wandering about once the task was complete.
It pondered. Eat now, not knowing how soon it would be able to leave the grounds, or eat from master later and soldiers after? The most delicious human on the grounds was its new master. It followed the conjurer’s scent back to a room in a distant hall and knocked.
“Come in.”
Lūkul entered the room. It was small, but furnished for honored guests with a wall tapestry and a bed that slept 2. The succubus closed the door behind itself. “There is a scrap of cloth in the main entrance. It smells bad. Look there for your problem.”
Master did not look up from her prayers. She was sitting before the fireplace, refusing to light any candle. In the dim light Lūkul could see perfectly how the wool of her tunic lay flat across her slim back, how her fingers caressed the psalter like a lover.
“Show me in the morning. For now, you are to stay in this room with me.”
The rest of the night passed in silence. Lūkul perched in the window, gazing up at the stars. The magician finished her prayers and went to bed early. The night sky was lovely, and Lūkul idly wondered if its current master would let it enjoy a bit of flight once the job was done. It was quiet, and despite the fact that the succubus was always idly seeking a meal, the depths of its hunger were still sated by the taste only one night before.
Dawn came, and master rose for prayers. Lūkul stayed in the window until the scholar was dressed and ready to leave.
“Come show me the fabric.”
The pair moved silently down the hall. In an empty entrance, the demon stood before the relic and pointed.
“This one. It wants something.”
“The robe of St. Mark,” the conjurer whispered to herself. “Alright. I have work to do. You may wander the grounds. Do not touch anyone. Do not feed. Keep your clothes on.”
Lūkul nodded. “I wouldn’t create trouble until I knew for certain we were leaving anyway.” The words spilled out again, another easy confession pulled from its bindings.
The magician nodded. Was that a smile?
After a bit of wandering, Lūkul found a shaded spot in the stable where it could watch the guards without being noticed. They were the best chance for a quick meal if the magician let the leash go too loose, so it wanted to memorize their habits.
Master found the succubus there about mid-afternoon. She came and stood, looking back at the men who were now helping to store hay in the grainery.
“I see.” she nearly snarled, “I suppose you are what you are.”
“I am.”
“Well, you were correct. We will be close by until the child is born just in case, but I suspect we wont have much to do.”
“I can find something to do,” Lūkul chuckled.
“Kneading bread with me,” the conjurer asserted blithely, “Fortunately, my abbey is only a 2 day walk from here. We will leave tomorrow to report to my superior.”
With that, Lūkul and the magician went to the kitchens and did indeed knead bread for dinner. It didn’t hurt. The succubus was strong for its size. The magician worked quietly, and Lūkul sat where it could still catch glimpses of the virile young men.
Dinner was a simple stew. The night was quiet, and the succubus again kept the watch while the moon passed over the heavens, waning.
It was not odd to Lūkul to pass time so quietly. A hunter’s joy has always been to sit still with a full belly, to save energy for the next hunt. The necromancer was just another temporary cage, except for the scent that came off of her. In a world of so many smells, Lūkul caught itself several times staring at its short-lived jailer, entranced by the smell of resin and water.
This “Father Sancho” was different. Perhaps it was the historiola that she had used to bind Lūkul, but never before had it felt such a compulsion to speak its thoughts. As it pinched off dough for a roll, Lūkul thought back to the time one necromancer had completely failed to mention honesty in the original binding. He had been a timid man, stout and tall, but his tongue was too thick for the Latin these modern prayers were written in. Lūkul had broken from his binding in less than a month, and had fed from him to boot.
Around them, other humans scampered about. When the demon’s eyes were caught on the conjurer, it was as if the human took form from a hazy sea of flesh. Had her eyes always been so striking, so bright?
--
The walk to the abbey was much the same. As the long walk went by, Lūkul stopped seeing orange cloak and tunic, and started seeing the shoulder length black hair. A phrygian cap gave way to green eyes that today reflected the fields around them. The silver ring that brought pain sat on soft terracotta-colored hands.
Only a few masters had made such an impression, and none of them smelled like this woman.
That night, the human led Lūkul into a smaller inn than the one they had met at. Lūkul immediately scented someone delicious, who reeked of sin and hunger.
A man stood at the bar. He was handsome, rich, with a full beard, and Lūkul could see him eyeing the beer maids as they walked around the crowd. Master was discussing gruel and rooms with the innkeeper, but her hand reached out to grab the succubus’ arm before it could wander over to its prey.
“Go to that table in the far corner and wait for me there. Do not beckon anyone over to you and do not charm anyone who approaches.” It was a whisper in Lūkul’s ear, and the words compelled its body to move. Its motions were no less fluid, no less inconspicuous than ever. It went, sat, and waited, looking bored.
Coin changed hands, a few deniers, and the priest came over with two cups of stew with bread.
“Hold. Do not eat until after grace.”
Lūkul was unimpressed. “I don’t need food.”
“You will eat so as not to arouse suspicion,” she huffed, “after I say grace.”
The muffled Latin made the demon’s ears itch. The food was bland and meaningless. And the man at the bar flagrantly moved to pinch the ass of some unlucky wench out of the corner of Lūkul’s eye. Oh! If only it was the victim of his hands, how easily it would lead him to sin.
“At this rate, you won’t be fed until we reach the abbey.” Master wiped her face.
Lūkul growled, “I’m hungry. Why do you care? Didn’t you say a wolf must hunt?”
“You waste your energy and mine gazing at someone you cannot have when I am right here.” The words came out hard and insistent.
Lūkul’s chest tightened in offense. In its anger, the beast forgot to hold its own tongue. “You have fed me once and are under no obligation to me so long as you keep your promises to your God. I cannot charm you, cannot seduce you. Of course the man who reeks of desire and sin is more alluring!”
It was lucky for both of them that the inn was busy, and no one could make out their argument in the din of voices.
“And as your handler, I cannot have you developing bad habits. You will keep those lascivious eyes off him or I will punish you.”
Lūkul grinned. “A choice, magician?”
The priest met its eyes with her own hard stare, “A choice. Show me if you can be more than a beast.”
“I choose to be what I am. No more, no less.”
Master waited, and the moment the demon’s eyes went back to the sinful man she rose from her chair. “Follow me. Now. Quietly.”
The succubus was led to a small bedroom upstairs, where a small bed awaited them.
As soon as the door closed, the human hissed her order. “Kneel in front of the fire and gaze into the flames.”
The demon did so, compelled by the magic between them. “You could have just ordered me not to.”
“A servant who is constantly looking for a way to wiggle out from under my control is of no use to me.”
“Then free me.”
The magician knelt in front of Lūkul, gripping its jaw with force. “I would rather see you sunk to the bottom of the ocean to spend the rest of your days in the arms of Leviathan than to loose you unto the countryside bringing people deeper into their miserable sin. You are lucky that is not my decision to make.”
Something was wrong. Lukul felt a shiver run up its spine. If nothing else, wrath had crept in, the scent of something warm finally mingling with the conjurer’s clean aroma.
The priest looked at the demon with sadness. She sighed, then got up to remove her cloak. Lūkul could hear fumbling, and master reappeared with chalk. A triangle was drawn around her with sacred names on each edge. The wood floor took the markings easily. In the triangle, Lukul felt the weight of the cage on its shoulders. It wanted to screech, to warn this magician of how dangerous a caged demon could be.
More fumbling, and master reappeared with a piece of parchment and a small glass vial.
“I promised you agony, Lūkul.”
Lūkul felt its eyes go wide. “You don’t have to keep your promises to me, human.”
“I do. Otherwise, how will you believe me when I say things? Don’t scream.”
From the vial, the magician took a pinch of some powder. It was put into the fire, and a stench worse than brimstone filled Lūkul nostrils with such wretched, noxious burning that tears tore themselves from its eyes. It choked, coughing, kept in place by master’s order and the triangle.
“Lord Jesus have mercy on us,” the conjurer mumbled her prayer in French like a common housewife.
It was punishment indeed. The red wretch coughed and heaved and felt hot tears roll down its own face. Any attempt to wipe the tears just made the burning worse, burrowing further in.
Master was there, meanwhile, watching. She watched as Lūkul lost control, shifting to its true form and prayed a litany of some kind that she must have memorized many years ago.
“Do you not smell that?” Lūkul asked, its voice hoarse.
Master shook her head. “Only briefly, and the smell is pleasant to me.”
“What was that thing?”
“I can’t tell you. I am also bound by oaths.”
Lūkul snorted before another wave of coughing took over.
“You pretended to be-,” a sharp inhale broke its speech, “gentle.”
“I can only feed you because I have the tools I do,” she explained, feeling sorry for the devil, “Otherwise I would have had to simply compel you into service, and you’d be stuck inside your head plotting an escape until the end of our time together.”
The burning rose in Lūkul’s throat like bile, and it didn’t speak again until the pain had passed. Lūkul knelt, bent over, hands resting on its knees. The triangle didn’t allow the demon to exit, but it could at least toss off the overbearing clothes. Nude, covered in a thin sweat, it looked at master with a blank hunger.
“Now.” Master removed the triangle from the floor with a damp cloth, “Let’s try this again. You may lie down if you wish, but do not stand and do not leave this room.”
Lūkul leaned back to sit on its rear end, wrapping its tail around itself.
“Disobedience earns punishment. Being useful earns reward.”
“I was useful,” the succubus hissed, “I found the bad thing. Feed me.”
“I will feed you tomorrow,” the conjurer replied. “For now, I have something to help with the pain. I need you fit to travel, and you have to at least walk out of here looking human.”
“I only eat desire,” Lūkul pulled at its own hair, “You are not so clever as to give me sex without sex, necromancer.”
Master pulled a balm from her side pouch and held it up, another glass vial. “Aphrodisiacs, demon. An appetizer.”
The succubus tried not to shiver or flinch as the magician’s finger dipped into the vial and spread the yellow grease under its nose. The smell was indeed good, soothing, and it threw Lūkul for more of a loop than the painful stench of earlier.
“Easy, you beast,” master whispered, “let the medicine work.”
A small wave of relief did spread through its frazzled body. Muscles relaxed. Its breathing slowed and deepened. In the long silence, master stayed still, kneeling by Lūkul to watch its reactions.
Once the conjurer was satisfied, she rose, went to her corner, and performed her nightly prayers.
“You may stand and move about this room if you wish,” she yawned, “You will not leave this room until we go to breakfast together in the morning. Don’t make noise.”
Lūkul did indeed rise, moving a stool to the north-facing window so it could stare into the night in its preferred vigil.
The priest watched for a moment before asking, “Do you prefer to sleep outdoors?”
“No preference,” Lūkul explained, “A cave is a cave no matter if humans made it or not.”
With that, master went to sleep.
--
They arrived at the abbey the next day. It was a tall stone building, old by human standards, surrounded by a garden and a few small fields worth of crops. Dairy goats and chickens milled about alongside nuns in white habits. On the way up, the pair had passed the male counterpart, slightly larger, the tonsured heads covered by plain straw hats as they worked the fields.
Where the men had ignored them, the women paused in their work to greet master. One particularly young novice bounded up, her wimple barely covering her long flaxen hair.
“Inés! You are back! Thanks be to God.”
Lūkul’s ears pricked. That must be master’s real name.
The two women embraced, smiling.
Master answered, “Thanks be to God indeed. How are things, Florie?”
“Good. Mother Superior wants to see you. Your cell should be prepared for your servant. What are we calling it?”
It. Somehow, the human knew. Lūkul gave the young lady a nod of the head. “Jeanne. Pleasure to meet you.”
The novice returned the nod. “Inés never was very creative.”
“Florie!” a nun called from the nearby field, “These beans will not weed themselves, girl!”
“I should go.” Florie blushed and scampered back to the neat rows, her apron flapping about as she went.
Master led Lūkul to her cell, a small stone room that would barely fit a horse, half of which was taken up by a small bed. There was a place to kneel for prayer facing an image of Christ on the back wall where a nightstand might go. The window, if one could call it that, was a narrow vertical slit near the top of the same wall. It was enough to know the time of day, and little else. The door was heavy, wooden, and bore seals burned onto the inside.
“This is a triangle, not a bedroom,” Lūkul hissed. The same weight that it had felt the night before in the inn pushed down on it now, suffocating. It snorted.
“It is both, and I am very glad to be back to it. Go in and wait for me.”
The demon’s body moved forward, but Lūkul managed to make its movements stiff, so great was its dislike of the triangle. The abbey smelled confusing and ambivalent, an overwhelming cacophony of stale urine, heady sins, and some monster Lūkul already wanted to run from.
“There is a Bad Thing, master. Won’t you want me to find it?” the succubus pleaded from inside the room.
The human gave Lūkul a hug. “I know there is a bad thing. You are in here to keep you safe from it, little beast.”
With that, the conjurer closed the door, locking it from the outside. She prayed over the door, and walked off.
Lūkul was prepared for a quiet, if offensive, afternoon of laying on the straw-filled mattress and staring at the ceiling. Necromancers were tiring, and the new master made it walk far too much.
That was, until it smelled another succubus. Footsteps approached down the hall. Normally, another succubus meant competition. Its siblings would nod, and the one who arrived second would wander to other hunting grounds unless the area was particularly rich, as a city center could be. Here, however, another succubus meant information.
Lūkul walked to the door and whispered in its native tongue, <Sister?> The language was a low frequency, almost inaudible to humans, but it allowed for some signs to be exchanged discreetly.
There was no reply. Two pairs of feet walked past.
Silence, and then another demon, this one a Nightmare. Again, Lūkul gave the hailing sign. <Dreameater. How is the hunting?>
Two sets of feet walked by. No answer.
After the 5th attempt, Lūkul relented. Perhaps the humans had made a door that blocked its call. Perhaps its nose was injured from the trials of the night before. Oh, to take wing! To fly at dusk and hunt at night amongst the stupid humans and not be stuck with magicians who were just clever enough to be a problem.
It even attempted to morph to its animal form, but the triangle held it fast. Lūkul snorted, went back to the bed, and counted the number of demons that walked down the hall. As it lay there, Lukul remembered its first master, an old midwife. She had used the old ways: capturing Lūkul in a bowl planted upside down in a courtyard and forcing it to chase off its own kin. It was before Lūkul had learned to charm and mislead, back when it simply fed off the night missions of men and breath of newborns.
The midwife herself had birthed half a dozen children and lost half before their 3rd year to fevers and famine. Lūkul hated her, even now, and the weight of the room’s enchantment felt like the bowl again.
At least Lūkul would be fed here.
Master returned at dusk. She opened the door and closed it behind her quietly.
“You smell different.” Lūkul noted. Master did smell different. She smelled, every so slightly, of desire. Not sin, no, nothing tasty. She smelled of some want, some yearning that had been recently scrubbed from her heart.
The conjurer only gave Lūkul a tired gaze. “I am to present you to Mother Superior after supper. Fed.”
All other thoughts left the beast’s mind. Its eyes locked on its human captor, remembering again how odd she was. For the first time, Lūkul saw her hesitate, saw the emerald eyes shimmer like a troubled ghoul. Still, there was no odor of sin. There was frailty, perhaps because the building they were in would hold Lūkul even if the necromancer faltered.
“Take off those clothes and show me your true form.” Her voice was still firm.
Lūkul was happy to comply. Wimple, cloak, dress, and underthings were tossed aside one after the other. All the while, it kept eyes on its master. It released the illusion of humanity, happily showing every last inch of its damned form.
The human walked forward, taking the demon's face in her hands.
“ Exorciso te creatura ignis, per illum per quem facta sunt omnia ut statim omne phantasma eiicias ut nocere non possit in aliquo. ”
A kiss, gentle, chaste, and Lūkul didn’t care what she tasted like, only that the magician fed it. Except that she tasted delicious. Troubled or not, water or wine, there was something about this necromancer that made Lūkul’s bones weak.
One hand held its jaw firmly as the other drew a cross on its forehead.
“Benedic Domine creaturam istam ignis, et sanctifica ut benedicta sit in Collaudacionem nominis tui sancti, ut nollo nocumento sit gestantibus, nec videntibus per Dominum nostrum Iesum Christum.”
Another kiss, this one hungrier, and a third. Master took a firm grip of Lūkul’s hair.
“I am not going to try and escape,” it purred.
The human huffed and relented. She carefully removed and set aside her clothes at the top of the bed, making a place for master to rest her head. Nearly nude save for the silver ring, the magician stood next to Lūkul, who had been watching her disrobe intently. For all that this new master tried to forego luxuries, she herself was one. Her skin opened like an expanse of desert, begging Lūkul’s fingers to fly over the freed limbs. Black hair shone obsidian, the mane of a succesful hunter. The magician held herself with the pride of someone who knew their place and fulfilled it, a confidence born of a sense of mission. Lūkul wanted this woman drenched with pleasure and served up like a fresh kill.
Crossing herself, the magician gave the final prayer.
“ Accipe Domine sanctitatem odoris incensi et dimitte virtutem tuam super nos celitus, ut possimus desiderem nostrum adimplere et ad effectum perducere in Collaudacionem nominis tui sancta per omnia secula seculorum. Amen. ”
With that, a floodgate opened. Lūkul felt warm hands explore its waist, then its ass. Kisses rose up the side of its neck and human flesh pressed into its own. Again, divine names were whispered, and the demon felt her mouth water. It felt as if the master was naming it, pressing the body of the church into the scarlet flesh Lūkul called home.
Now was not the time for being clever or coy or to think ahead to freedom. Now was time to eat.
“Master,” Lūkul pleaded, “Bed? Lay down? You promised, magician. You promised.”
“I did promise,” she replied, but she made no move away from the demon. She claimed its mouth, tongue moving to taste Lūkul deeply.
Any complaint the creature had died. The desire poured out of master like a waterfall, soothing the gnawing tired feeling that had sat in Lūkul since the night before. It moaned into the kiss and brought its hands to master’s back, running nails lightly over her frail human skin.
That finally stopped the magician. She gasped, breaking the kiss, eyes wild as she looked at the succubus. “Again. More.”
Lūkul complied. She knew well how to elicit heat in the woman before her. A bit more pressure would help, as would expanding its reach. It massaged the place where master’s back ended and her ass began. Moaning prayers came up out of the priest.
“Master,” it purred again, “Bed? I’m so hungry.”
The human pushed Lūkul back, holding its shoulders with a rage that quickly faded to helplessness.
The look in her eyes made Lūkul ravenous. A storm brewed in them, one that would make any ocean coil and write under it.
“On your knees.”
The demon obeyed, but not without complaint. “You’ll fall over.”
Silver touched her forehead, threatening pain.
Lūkul panted. “I am trying to make this easier for you, master.”
The human sighed. “You are. I am sorry. Come. Come and eat, Lūkul.”
The apology left Lūkul stunned for a second. Only for a second. Once master lay on the bed, her legs splayed, and the succubus saw the dewy slick coating curled fur, it got up.
The demon lay on its stomach. Its mouth was mere inches from its meal. It wrapped an arm around the human’s thigh. It used the other hand to bring up a single finger to the hot, wet entrance and pressed in slowly.
Master inhaled sharply. “That doesn’t feel good.”
“It will,” Lūkul promised, “Trust that I want to eat well, magician.”
“I place my trust in God.”
Lūkul tried not to roll its eyes. At least the human relaxed. It worked the tight cunt slowly, opening it like a spring flower. The demon lay kisses along a pale thigh, following the vein lying underneath. The priest's utterances slowly gave way to sharp breaths. The succubus felt heat build around its finger and slid another inside before descending to minister to master’s clit.
That drew a response. The human began to sing in long, low, pleading notes. Finally speechless, the human gave in to Lūkul’s tongue until orgasm took her, and the night screecher fed from the temple of desire it so longed for.
After the human was done, Lūkul sat up slowly, catching its breath. It was used to feeling drunk after eating. Instead, there was a peace much like the feel of cool night air under her wings. It closed its eyes and relished its satiety.
The human ignored its prisoner for a moment, then rose to clean herself off. She put on her traveling clothes.
“Change into your human form and get dressed.”
Lūkul obeyed, the hold on its body still moving it wordlessly. It opted to leave behind its cowl and outer cloak, messily ignored on the stone floor.
The pair walked silently toward what must have been the kitchens. The scent of human food and the clanging of pans couldn’t have come from any other room. Next to the kitchen was a room filled with clothing. On one side were white habits, robes, wimples, and veils. On the other were all manner of lay clothing: disguises for traveling sisters.
Master made short work of undressing and redressing herself. Her clothes were placed in a laundry basket by the door, and she donned the habit of her sisters as if it were a second skin. Lūkul hadn’t realized it, but the conjurer’s shoulders were visibly more relaxed in the robe, though her spine was no less upright.
--
The dining hall was plain but serviceable. The abbey housed roughly 50 bodies, including one Mother Superior and 5 novices. The novices were serving the night’s meal, a simple hare stew that was more vegetable than hare. Alongside the stew was simple bread and weak beer. Everyone sat in silence, waiting patiently for Mother Superior to bless the meal.
Lūkul entered and quickly realized that almost a full third of the bodies present were demons. She scented the other succubus from earlier. The demons, like her, wore human clothing. Most of them looked outwardly like simple farmers dressed in colorful tunics. The novices knew not to feed them food, saving the portions for humans who needed the sustenance.
Master led it to a table near the front, taking a place next to three older women. Lūkul managed to keep its face calm by millenia of practice. Stew and bread was given to master, and Mother Superior stood.
She was middle aged, with a severe face and piercing brown eyes. Her voice filled the hall easily, and her presence was commanding. She smelled of nothing, and Lūkul was more afraid of her than it had been of a human in a thousand years.
“Sisters, today we celebrate Inés having completed the challenge to become a journeyman in our holy order. She has bound a demon into her service and therefore into the service of our Lord Christ Jesus. Sister, please stand.”
Master stood, walking to stand beside the Mother Superior with a small nod of the head.
The leader gave the order, “Call your servant up.”
“Lūkul, come and kneel before me.”
The demon wanted to do no such thing. Being seen was counter to every instinct the demon had. All the magic of its being was geared toward not being seen, passing by unnoticed until it needed to charm fresh prey. Still, its body moved. It moved and knelt and realized the Bad Thing was in the room and was now looking at it.
The creature looked up to its master, wild eyes fading back to yellow, pupils wide in panic.
“You’re safe so long as you obey me, little beast.”
How had she known? Lūkul said nothing. It wasn’t being punished for looking up? No pain, no cold?
“Why does the succubus look so panicked, Inés?” It was the leader’s voice.
“It scented the Legion earlier, and does not know Legion serves our holy order, Mother.”
“It has a keen nose.”
“It does. Lower your eyes, Lūkul. You are under my protection.”
It obeyed because there was nothing besides obedience and panic.
“Actually,” the cold voice of the leader countered, “I prefer the opposite. Rise, succubus, and meet my eyes. Let me have a look at you.”
Lūkul took a moment to comply, realizing the geass of the binding from master had no effect when the leader spoke. It rose and looked into human eyes, enraged and afraid. It wanted to run, to fly, but sudden movement would attract something worse, surely.
“Turn and face the hall.”
Lūkul looked to master, again that compulsion to see something familiar, even if she had only been master for a few days. The magician nodded. Lūkul turned, its face calm, eyes back to their human color.
“Have you seen her animal form yet?”
“Not yet, Reverend Mother.”
“After vespers you can let it have a bit of a stretch in the garden.”
“If you think it wise.”
“I do. You have a good servant, Sister. Develop its skill well, and we will rid many Christians of illness.”
Lūkul heard none of this. It was too busy looking at the Thing. In the back, by the door, stood what appeared to be a short woman in a red dress and white apron. Her wimple was plain, but it framed the smile on her face delicately. Lūkul did not know what this “Legion” was, only that every fiber of the succubus’ being wanted to be invisible, to run.
“Those amongst you who are Journeyman or Masters may stay after supper if you like to witness the initiation of Sister Inés. For now, let us pray. Sister, please lead us in prayer.”
“ Benedic, Domine, nos et haec tua dona quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi, per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.”
With that, Lūkul was led back to its seat. Supper was a blur. No one spoke save one elder sister who read from a holy text as the rest ate. Once finished, each human in turn took their bowl and spoon to the kitchen and retired to their cells. Those with demon companions returned to their seats.
Eventually, the hall was in silence. The novices and solitary humans had gone. Mother Superior nodded, and the Thing, the awful horrible dangerous Thing closed the doors and moved to stand by her side.
“Inés, stand before me with your servant.”
“Lūkul,” master whispered. “Follow me.”
The demon did not want to move closer to that Thing. It did not want to be where the Thing could see it. It did not want to be examined by the woman who had the power to control the Thing. It moved. Lūkul’s body moved to follow master, though it could no longer contain its fear and it shook.
Mother Superior was amused. She smiled. “Your servant is wise and alert. I am very pleased. Hopefully your choice pleases our Lord as well.”
“If it isn’t, I will gladly submit myself to correction.”
The leader raised an eyebrow at master. “Apprentice, do you have your ring?”
Inés removed the silver ring and handed it to the leader. It made no difference. Lūkul realized that every human in the room had the ability to control it, most of all the leader. It had never seen so many magicians in one place.
“Which Master Exorcist speaks for you, apprentice?”
“Master Biette speaks for me.”
A woman came up from the crowd to stand by master. She was tall and thin with an easy smile. Following her was a gnome in the guise of a short stocky man. Master smiled back at this teacher, relaxing a bit.
“Master Biette, do you vouch for your apprentice?”
“I do.”
“Do you see fit for her to bear the ring of a journeyman?”
“I do, and I have the ring prepared.”
“Then let us see if the servant is accepted into the service of our Lord.”
A human moved forward carrying a bowl of water. Mother Superior pulled a knife from her sleeve.
Master took Lūkul’s hand in hers. “It’s okay. It won’t hurt. Steady, little beast.”
The bowl of water was placed underneath their joined hands. Mother Superior pulled the knife from its sheath, the blade bearing angelic markings. She pricked master’s finger, and a drop of blood fell into the water. Next, the knife pricked Lūkul. If it hand’t been for the binding, it would have run.
A drop of its ichor fell into the water, and the water turned a deep blue.
The leader smiled and sheathed the dagger. “Our Lord has accepted your servant.”
The teacher handed a ring to master, pulling her away from Lūkul’s hands and into a hug before placing the ring on her finger.
“You now bear my seal, journeyman,” the teacher said, “Before you become a Master, I will show you how to find the seal of your own service to the Lord.”
The rest of the room gave master congrats. Many chose to embrace master before waving and walking off toward their cells. Eventually all that was left was master, the leader, Lūkul, and the Thing.
“Legion, retire to my cell until I send for you.”
The Thing nodded and walked way.
“Lūkul, Inés, come with me to the gardens.”
A few minutes later, Lūkul found itself in a walled garden. Fruit trees and herb beds outlined a small square space.
“You did well, demon,” master smiled. “I half expected you to run away.”
“I couldn’t!” Lūkul finally spoke its mind. “You made me stay still!”
Master laughed, her first real smile since Lūkul had met her. “I did.”
“Who are you? Why are there so many magicians here? Why is there a- a-” Lūkul couldn’t even say its name.
“Legion is my servant,” Mother Superior answered. “And I feed it the demons who fail our tests.”
Lūkul felt its body go ice cold with fear, eyes wide. Fed to an elder demon? Lūkul couldn’t even think the Thing’s name, much less say it so casually. That Thing had been there at the Long Before, before even Jehovah, and was not a toy for humans to play with. If it wanted to eat Lūkul, it would have already done so.
“I cannot tell you everything,” master explained, “but I am now a journeyman exorcist. This abbey and our brothers down the hill are part of a sacred order.”
“Does that ring hurt worse than the other one?”
“If you obey me, you won’t find out.”
Mother Superior cleared her throat. “Little beast, you are wasting valuable flying time.”
“Yes,” master agreed, “You may turn into your bird form and fly, but when the bell rings for vespers you must return to this garden and take human form again.”
“H-how do you know about that?”
“I cannot answer that question. Do you want to exercise before we are locked into my cell for the evening or not?”
Lūkul did not need to be told again. It took the form of a nightjar, and flew into the forest. It didn’t fly like a summer breeze, but like a howling wind bringing warning of a thunderstorm, racing off with every ounce of self-preservation it had. Nothing made sense. Why where there so many magicians? Why did they have an Elder Demon in their grasp? Why did it look to master for reassurance when the magician was their jailer? Why? Why? Why?
Why did master taste so good?
Lūkul didn’t have any answers. For now, it had the sky, and it flew until the bell sounded to call it back to the abbey. It rang like a prophecy, heavy in the night screecher’s chest.