Pic of the Day
Sound of the Season: Turkish Song of the Damned
Excerpt, from "Prey" available in Howl at The Mistletoe Not Work Safe
The building had been used as shelter by transients. Bits of fires, graffiti, the occasional den in a sheltered corner where the remaining doors could be closed for protection from the wind and ice. I caught a few of these. The Flyer always ran a heart-tugging story on homelessness when the weather started getting cold.
I shot some of the graffiti. Most of it was basic crude intaglios: initials, drawings, dates. There were some more skilled artworks. One in particular made my skin crawl. I didn't recognize it, but I shot it anyway. It looked sort of like a summoning seal, but I'd never seen one with
eight points. The language around the edges looked like Latin and I figured I could translate once I got it developed. The seal had me curious, but it made me nervous at the same time. A low-grade stomach churn and the skin crawling on my neck like It was watching me -- whatever It was. I'd see what I could find in the occult section at work.
I finished the roll and got back in my Beetle. I drove out of the gate as darkness fell and straight to the nearest bar. After two drinks, my hands stopped shaking and I poured myself back into the bug and drove home. I'd develop the pics after work. I didn't feel like fooling with it
I didn't feel like eating either, so I just went to bed.
So pretty this one. Oh, Lord of Lust, let him... no, he didn't touch the seal. Damn. Ah! A picture. Now that I can work through. Yes, and he's a developer sort. When he develops that one he's mine. Mother Lilith, why do you put such mortals so near yet so far, like the temptations of
Heaven? Is it to remind us Winged Ones that we can have neither?
He's sleeping now. Father Asmodeus won't mind if I take a peek. Hm! Bisexual. He dreams of pretty red-haired girls and pretty blond boys at the same time. I wonder which way he'd like me better? The succubus shape never feels as right as my incubus form. Most demons are neuter
and we Winged Ones switch as the mood takes us. But a few, like me, have a distinct preference. I am male.
I conjure a mirror and look at myself, molding my features into what I have seen in his dreams. Blond doesn't look bad on me. I award myself a penis such as I have seen in paintings: as thick as my forearm and reaching to my knees. It juts straight out and I imagine taking him with it.
The way he would clench and gasp, the way he would be unable to scream for the pain as it rips into his fragile mortal body. In my mind's eye, the tip emerges from his throat to ejaculate over his face.
This stepbrother of mine is my lawful prey. He has taken my seal, my summoning route, to himself. I decide to chance a dreamsending. Asmodeus frowns on such, but what the Lord of Lust doesn't know won't hurt me.
Only El is omniscient, and he stopped caring for my kind when Mother flouted his command to return to the Man of Dust. I slip into my prey's dreams. I do not retain the prick I had chosen, but temper it to something more reasonable: as thick as my wrist and the length of a cubit.
He thinks he's a top! Isn't that precious? No, dear brother, you are mine.