Page 42 of The Prospect's Succubus
Sera got to her feet, wiped her hands again, and then stood over us both. “You have an hour before the next wave hits. I’ll prep the ritual.”
She headed for the kitchen, leaving me and Jasmine alone in the electric quiet.
Jasmine stared at the ceiling, like it held all the answers. “You don’t have to do this,” she said, not looking at me.
I sat on the edge of the couch, careful not to touch her. “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
She shook her head. “No. But thanks for pretending.”
I watched her chest rise and fall, saw the pain in every breath. I thought about what Sera had said, about contracts and blood bonds, about what it meant to share damnation with someone else.
The hour vanished faster than my last hope of sleep. Sera commandeered the living room, cleared a circle in the debris, and started sketching symbols with a black Sharpie she pulled from somewhere inside her coat. Kane vacuumed up the perimeter, pushing the books and half-eaten containers against the walls. Jasmine watched, arms crossed, trying not to look as nervous as she clearly felt.
Sera turned to us, voice brisk. “We need three anchors. First, a token of Jasmine’s infernal origin. Second, something from Torch’s old life. Third, a physical representation of the bond you two share. Get them. Now.”
Jasmine went to her bag, the big leather one she’d carried since the beginning, and dug out a box the size of a cigarettepack. It was obsidian, slick and cold, etched with sigils I didn’t want to recognize. She hesitated before opening it, then slid the lid off with her thumb. Inside was a single, black scale, thin as a fingernail and sharp enough to slice skin if you looked at it wrong.
She held it out to Sera, hand trembling. “Straight from the Queen’s forge,” she said. “Take it or leave it.”
Sera took the box, nodded once. “Perfect.”
Kane leaned on the kitchen doorway, watching with his arms folded, but I could tell he was ready to jump in if Jasmine so much as flinched wrong.
My turn. I didn’t have much in the way of mementos, not unless you counted the scars. But there was one thing, buried in the bottom drawer of the bedroom: a battered set of dog tags, stamped with my old Army number and the name I’d tried to lose a dozen times. I yanked them out, fingered the cold metal, then brought them back into the room.
Sera smiled, a flash of real pleasure. “Very good,” she said. “Something with meaning. Something alive.”
Jasmine shot me a look, half smirk, half sadness. “Didn’t think you were sentimental, soldier.”
“Just practical,” I replied. “They survived Hell. Figured they’d do the trick.”
Sera moved to the final step. “Last item. Something that embodies your bond. Physical, recent, and tied to both.”
We both hesitated. Then, at the same time, we looked down at the talisman I still wore around my neck—the one Jasmine had slipped me, the one that burned hotter every time she was close.
She reached for it, then stopped. “You sure?” she said, voice soft.
I popped the clasp and dropped it into Sera’s waiting palm.
Sera arranged the three objects in a triangle, then traced another set of lines between them, making the symbols glowwith a faint blue light. She sprinkled salt over the top, then set the scale in the center.
“Alright,” she said. “Here’s the deal. We’re going to perform a partial transference. Not a full handoff, not a master-slave setup. You two become co-holders of the contract. Jasmine’s chains weaken, but you’ll both be marked by Hell, and you’ll both carry the risk. You’ll also both be stronger against outside attack, as long as you stick together.”
Jasmine huffed a laugh. “You make it sound like a couples’ retreat.”
“Romeo and Juliet,” I said.
Sera ignored the joke. “There’s risk. The bond could break under stress. If one of you dies, the other gets the whole load. If you both die, Lilith gets her wish and then some.” She wiped her hands, stood back. “Ready?”
I looked at Jasmine. She was staring at the symbols, jaw set.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “Not really. Not if you don’t want to.”
I stepped in, close enough to smell her hair, and placed my hand over hers. “I’m in,” I said. “If we’re going to Hell, at least we can flip Lilith off on the way down.”
Kane barked a laugh from the kitchen, but even he sounded nervous.
Sera gestured us to opposite sides of the circle. “Sit. Cross-legged, hands on your knees. When I say go, you both press your palm to the scale and don’t let go until I tell you.”
