Page 61 of The Succubi's Choice

He makes a note in his notebook. “Was it a teleportation of a displacement of air?”

“I can’t tell the difference?” She says, because really.

He nods at her arm. “Put your hand on the table,” he orders.

She doesn’t move. “Why?”

“Because we’re gonna do a blood test.”

“Why couldn’t this wait for Katya?”

Vincente smiles at her. It’s the most sinister little smile, with his thin lips and lines that show too many frowns.

“We know Katya has...ambitions,” he says, as if speaking in code and innuendos make it easier. “We don’t want those involved.”

The door opens, and she twists around again, and, closing it politely behind her, is the nameless, faceless woman from the night before. She’s dressed nondescript just as before, but her eyes flicker up to Miri with that same hidden steel.

Vincente gestures at Miri, clearly deferring to the woman, and the woman simply nods, as Miri stares, open mouthed.

“Yes, that’s her,” the woman says, and even her voice is non-descript. Matter of fact. Would be just as normal as in this room as it would be from a middle manager in an office. “He was hanging all over her.”

“Hmmm,” Vincente says, pressing buttons on the machine as the woman takes a seat on the generic couch, placing her purse on her lap, then locks eyes with Miri again. “Tell me, how did you charm him?”

It circles back to the previous argument so quickly her skin crawls. “I told you, I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“You expect us to believe that a demon would associate with a simple succubi by choice?” The woman says, loud, almost too loud in the quiet room, and Miri twists around to face her again.

“Look, it doesn’t make sense to me, he just asked me to come along and —"

Quick, too quick for her to react or to charm or to figure out a defense for herself, a goon slams something at the base of her skull, pitching her forward in her chair.

Seeing sparks, she struggles back, her head ringing, and —

Hands grab her arms, and too many for her to charm, and, unbidden, her charm sparks up, arcing in the air, but too late and doesn’t land on anyone and —

Fast, too fast, something pricks against the veins in her upper arm and a shock of cold makes her jerk back, her stomach dropping and —

It’s like time slows down. Like her face goes numb, her eyes drooping, and she slumps, only keeping in the chair because a goon nudges her.

Slow, like it’s not happening, she sees Vincente smile, wide, and the goons fix her hands in copper handcuffs on the table. The copper bites into her skin, more of an itch than a pain, and she stares at it.

“What?” She asks, and even the words don’t come fast to her, like they draw themselves out of her mouth at half speed, and horror seethes itself in her stomach and behind her eyes. “What are you —"

Unable to turn her head to track the movements, she sees the woman get up from the couch and leave, closing the door behind her with a click, leaving her alone with all the men.

Vincente pushes a lever, and another shock of cold makes its way down her arm, and she stares down. A needle sticks in above her wrist, like some sort of IV, connected to the machine.

“I don’t...” she manages out, her voice languid despite the terror crawling around inside of her.

With each word, the machine beeps, like it’s picking up signals from her, and her head swims.

“Don’t be scared,” Vincente says, businesslike. “This is a routine reading for someone with unexplained powers.”

Because they really think she has more powers than she has. Because they really think she charmed her way into this position, that she’s manipulating the Archdemon, somehow, and they…

“I don’t have...unexplained powers.” No matter how she tries to blurt it out, her voice comes out at half speed. “I’m just normal.”

“We’ll see,” he says, then waves one of the goons forward.

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