Page 38 of The Prospect's Succubus
He turned to me, the lines in his face deeper than ever. “You ready to finish this?”
I nodded, then gasped as the brand flared. This time, I saw more—an image of Lilith, perched at the center of the carousel, her hair a living corona, her smile stretched to inhuman lengths. The ringmaster knelt in front of her, skull split open, the inside packed with writhing larvae and red-hot chains. Every time the ride spun, another soul was dragged through the gap and left dangling, screaming, on the other side.
“She needs souls,” I whispered. “Not just for power. She’s prepping a full manifestation. Once she’s got enough, she won’tneed a vessel anymore. She’ll be able to come through as herself. No restrictions.”
Torch’s face was set in stone. “How many?”
I laughed, or tried to. “All of them. Or enough to make the balance tip.”
He gripped my hand, then jerked it back as the skin sizzled at the touch. “Shit. Sorry.”
I managed a smile. “I’ve had worse. Besides, I like it when you get rough.”
He didn’t laugh. He checked the gun, then the blade, then the runed plates under his jacket. “We go for the carousel first. Disrupt the portal. Then we find Lilith, and we put her down.”
I blinked sweat out of my eyes. “You ever killed a queen before?”
He glanced at me, blue eyes cold. “Once. Didn’t stick.”
We moved, sticking to the shadows, Torch leading, me following on legs that barely worked. The closer we got, the thicker the air became—like walking through honey that hated you. The crowd didn’t even notice us, but I could feel the weight of a million eyes, all watching, all waiting.
We hit the edge of the carousel. Up close, it was a nightmare. The horses writhed, flesh peeling, their eyes pits of burning coal. The ringmaster stood at the control panel, lips sewn shut, skin crawling with script. Behind him, Lilith lounged, one leg draped over a bloodstained pole, her gaze fixed on me.
She didn’t speak, not with her mouth. Her words were inside my skull, coiling through the holes she’d left.
Jasmine, darling. Did you miss me?
I almost doubled over, but Torch caught me, held me up, his hand clamped to my wrist. I saw his knuckles go white, the scars on his forearm lighting up. He felt it, too—the pain, the need, the old craving.
I focused, forced the words out. “She’s in my head. Trying to take the rest.”
He gripped me harder. “Don’t let her.”
Lilith’s smile stretched, teeth going all the way back. The brand on my shoulder flared, hot enough to blind. I dropped to my knees. Torch yanked me up, shoved the cold compress—stolen from a first-aid kit—against my forehead. It hissed, then sizzled, and for a second the pain receded.
“Stay with me,” he said. “You’re stronger than her.”
“Debatable,” I croaked.
He pulled me back, bracing my body with his, both of us crouched behind the ruined ticket booth as the carousel spun faster and faster. Every rotation left a smear in the air, a trail of faces screaming into nothing.
I tried to speak, but the words tangled. Instead, I reached out, clawed at Torch’s arm, and pointed at the main shaft of the ride. “The core,” I whispered. “It’s the anchor. Break it, she loses her grip.”
He nodded, then drew the gun, sighted down the barrel. “On three.”
I wanted to make a joke, say something clever, but the world was already going black at the edges. I held on, dug my fingers into his sleeve, and counted along with him.
“One. Two. Three.”
He broke cover, sprinted for the carousel. The ringmaster turned, eyes dripping tar, but Torch put three rounds through his chest and another through his skull. The thing toppled, still twitching, as Torch vaulted onto the spinning platform. I saw the blade flash, saw him jam it into the brass pole at the center, saw the runes on the blade ignite in blue-white fire.
The whole ride shook. The horses screamed, their bodies ripping apart, sinew and bone slapping the boards. Lilith’slaughter peeled the paint from the sky. The portal began to close, the gap narrowing, sparks arcing from every metal surface.
Lilith leaped from her perch, moving faster than physics allowed. She landed on Torch, knocking him flat, her hands at his throat. I tried to get up, but my body refused. The brand at my shoulder pulsed, and I felt her inside me, clawing.
But Torch was still moving. He brought the blade up, rammed it through her forearm. She shrieked, let go, and he rolled, pinning her with the weight of his body and a snarl that was half-human, half-demon. He pressed the blade to her throat, the runes burning, burning until she howled and tried to pull away.
I crawled, inch by inch, across the ground. Every movement was pain, every second a year. But I reached the edge of the carousel, grabbed the nearest horse’s leg, and hauled myself up.
