were planted.
As for the ones who held some evil in their souls, they felt my touches, my caresses, and they threw their heads back and cried out in glee, their huzzahs and shouts like music; they swayed and staggered and hiccupped with giggles, inebriated with the power of lust; they dropped to the floor and bucked and kicked, fornicating with lovers only they could see and feel; they leapt up and danced in wanton abandon. With every moan of ecstasy, every delighted gasp that relished the pleasure I bestowed upon them, I tasted them—just a lick, a little nibble of their souls.
Mmm. They were delicious. Amazing. Orgasmic.
“Just like a man,” Jezebel said. “Getting them tanked up before going for what’s in their pants.”
“Who, me? Would I do that?”
“I’d suggested subtle. Look at them. They’re loaded.”
“Drunk in the Holy Spirit.”
“You.”
We turned to see the magus standing before us, his one good eye fierce with righteous ire and holy thunder. He pointed a finger at us and bellowed, “What are you, you who stand here in this place of God?”
Fuck. I hate the magi.
Jezebel stepped forward, first one delicate foot and then the other, running her gloved hands over the abundant curves of her torso, the swells of her hips. “I? I’m but a painted Jezebel, come to witness the saving of souls. Are you saving them, Preacher?”
I bit back a laugh. Damnation, how I adored her…
“You have no place here, demon spawn!” The magus barely stammered. If I cared at all, I would have respected that. He shouted, “Get you gone!”
“Oh, but Preacher,” I said, “your congregation needs you. Look at them, lost little lambs, waiting for their shepherd to lead them home. So many things could happen to lost lambs, Preacher. So many things to tempt them off the path.” I grinned, big big big, allowed my fangs to flash in a moment of clarity.
The magus trembled, but his feet remained rooted to the floor. Either foolhardy, or too terrified to move. Either was fine with me. “Get thee behind me, Satan!”
“We’re not that one,” I said. “And from where I’m standing, you don’t seem to have anyone on your side, Preacher. It’s just you, and us two.”
I spoke truly (which I did not make a custom of); none of the humans had come to his side to stand with him as he faced off the minions of Hell. No, those godly people were too busy feeling the throes of ecstasy (or standing agog as they watched the fully clothed orgy around them) to notice our holy showdown. As far as we were concerned, it was just Seymour and we two Seducers.
If he wasn’t a magus, I’d have eaten him for brunch. But I preferred sweeter tastes on my tongue.
“You’re strong enough to resist temptation,” Jezebel purred, her hand reaching out, now touching the mortal’s thigh. “Aren’t you? You’re strong enough to lead them to the Light.”
His voice strangled, the magus intoned, “I shall fear no evil.”
“As you say, sweetie.” Jezebel leaned forward to whisper in his ear, words that I heard clearly, even over the din of copulation and salvation: “Why don’t you scuttle back to your altar, Preacher, and determine how to turn this to your advantage? Unless you want it known that your entire flock fell under a power quite different than your so-called baptism.”
He paled, and sweat beaded on his brow.
“Go on now,” Jezebel said, planting a kiss on his gray cheek. “You’ve got work to do.”
She released him, and he staggered backward, his good eye glassy and fearful, his mouth agape. Then he turned and ran to his pulpit, which he clutched as if it could shield him. Taking in the scene around him, he blew out a breath, then a second, and finally drew himself high.
“You feel it, don’t you?” he asked, addressing his followers. “Waves of power, overwhelming you. That’s a foretaste of Heaven!”
Heh. Really? Jezebel and I exchanged a bemused look.
He declared: “You’ve given yourself to the power of the Holy Spirit! Don’t resist the power of the Lord! Let it fill you! Let your bodies sway and faint, let your hearts leap in joyful response! Ring the air with loud laughter! Be drunk in the Holy Spirit!”
“Hey,” I said, affronted. “That’s my line.”
Jezebel’s hand snaked around my waist, pulled me close. “Perhaps you should consider switching to the other side.”
I laughed, wrapping my arms around my little succubus. “I do seem to enjoy getting religion. But you know what would make this even more fun?”
“What?”
“A holy fuck.”
“Why, Daunuan,” Jezebel declared, batting her eyelashes, “you sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.”
“One of my many talents.” Then I sealed our lips in a burning kiss, and we fell to the floor in our own religious ecstasy.
Hours later, we made a Pit stop. Jezebel had insisted: she wanted to start the paperwork on the group of mortals we’d encouraged to reach new heights of passion. Looked like she was angling for a promotion. I didn’t have it in me to tell her not to bother; her bitch Queen would never see fit to advance my little succubus to the place she deserved. Jezebel had said on many occasions that Lillith despised her, and I had to agree. What I couldn’t fathom was why. Not that it mattered; it wasn’t my concern.
After a lingering, groping kiss—and a quick clutching of breasts and balls—Jezebel turned away from me to saunter into Pandemonium, promising to be just a few hours. “All I need is to hand in the names,” she said, her voice almost lost amid the cacophony of wails and screeches of the damned. “I’ll be done in plenty of time for us to get to San Francisco.”
“You have two days,” I said. “Then I’m leaving without you.”
“Duly noted. I’ll call you when I’m free.”
With that, she walked toward the mountain complex that housed the demons and offices of Hell. Standing at the boundary of the Heartlands and Pandemonium, I watched her move, fascinated by her every step. As always. I didn’t understand what it was about Jezebel that affected me so; other succubi were just as sexy, just as talented between the sheets. But none compared to her. And—bless me for even thinking it—it wasn’t just about the sex.
It was something that was uniquely her. Something I couldn’t put my finger on (or in), yet it was there all the same, in everything she did, everything she said, every motion of her body. It was infuriating and intoxicating. And I couldn’t put a name to it.
Not true. It had a name.
Jezebel.
A pop of burning sulfur, almost undetectable here in the Abyss. Then, in my ear, Pan’s voice: “You know, you get this look in your eyes after you get bacchanalian with her. And I swear, your horns are
