The Cuckoo

by Chris Lester

As I lay in the baron’s bed, my arms around his beautiful wife, I found myself actively wishing that the dawn would never come. It was sort of a new experience for me. It wasn’t as if there weren’t ample reasons to leave – quite the opposite, actually. And hey, look at where I was now: mission accomplished. Praise be to my Lady, glory hallelu.

Still … it was different this time. This one would stick with me for a long time, I could tell. Fair Delilah, you wormed your way into my infernal little heart … and not just because chasing you nearly got me killed.


Let’s back up, shall we?

Hi there! You can call me John. Don’t bother asking, “John Who?”, because the answer’s gonna be a lie no matter what I tell you. I used to have a last name. It was a nice one, too: the kind that comes with heraldry, and servants, and penthouse suites, and trust funds that rival the budgets of small nations. Yes, sir, I was all set up for a lifetime career as one of those useless noble scions, frittering away my parents’ fortune on drugs, booze and hot and cold running women. I would have been damned good at it, too; the paparazzi could have fed their families for years on my antics. Decades, even.

It was a nice dream — but, alas, not one destined for me. My access to the family jewels got cut off as soon as Daddy found out that I hadn’t been spawned from … well, the family jewels. Given that I was his only male heir, they might have been willing to keep that under wraps … if my real father had been human. But when you’re from a family that prides itself on its genetic “purity” and your son turns out to be an incubus? Yyyyeah. That’s the sort of thing that gets you dis-invited from parties … the political kind, as well as the social kind.

So, they gave me the boot — excoriated, is the term they use in the old noble houses. There's a fascinating story behind that, and maybe I'll tell you about it sometime, but in the broad strokes I'm just like any other kid ever sired by an incubus. You see, kids born to succubae are raised knowing what they are – lucky bastards – but incubi are like cuckoos: they plant their children in someone else's nest and let them grow up thinking they're human. Then, sometime after they hit puberty, they absorb enough lustful energy from the people around them that they change, turning into full-powered inkies and suckies. The smart ones manage to keep their powers hidden. The dumb ones start pulling auras on people left and right, seducing every hot guy or chick in sight, and eventually end up on the business end of a Lightbringer's sword.

Me, I split the difference. When I got outed, only five or six people knew my secret, and they all had reasons for keeping it quiet. My nominative parents let me finish uni, then sent me packing with a measely fifty kay and an order to keep my big mouth shut.

Like I said, not too different from the usual. After getting kicked out I got in touch with the Church of Hedonism, which was just about the only place that would have me. They taught me the basics about my powers and then put me to work. Delilah comes into the picture fifteen years later, and that's where things get interesting.


I first spotted her from clear across the room at House Brightleaf's annual winter ball. She huddled in the lee of a grand staircase, looking as miserable and forlorn as a wet kitten. The hall was probably about twenty degrees standard, which is a fine spring day in Metamor and a bloody extravagance when you're heating a room with ten-meter ceilings in the middle of January. Also, most of the Brightleafs are fox-morphs, and twenty degrees is about as warm as you'd ever want it when you're wearing a fur coat.

But this dear lady was no theriomorph, and she clearly wasn't from around here: her dark olive skin and lustrous black hair stood out dramatically amid the pale Sathmorans and Kitchlanders who made up most of Metamor's ruling class. She looked to be in her early thirties, with elegant features that were still lovely even in the midst of her distress. She wore a sleeveless evening gown of royal blue, with a high neckline and a knee-length hem that was slashed dramatically up the side of the right leg. It was both stunning and utterly out of fashion, at least in this part of the Empire. The white shawl she clutched around her shoulders was equally gauche, and didn't seem to be doing nearly enough to ward off the cold. The other guests seemed to be studiously avoiding her, as if her social ineptitude would somehow infect them if they got too close.

Beautiful, alone, and vulnerable. For an incubus, that's like tying a steak around your neck. My mouth watered just looking at her. She was exactly the sort we were looking for — or so I thought at the time.

I put on a gentle, concerned expression and approached her. She glanced up at me when I came within two meters, then looked away. Apparently she expected me to say something cruel, or ignore her like everyone else had done. I do so enjoy surprising people.

“Are you all right, milady? You look chilled.”

She looked up at me then, her expression startled. “What?”

I gave her that gentle smile again and nodded to her respectfully. “I asked if you were well, milady. Forgive my impertinence, but I could not help but notice that you seemed to be in some discomfort. Shall I fetch you anything? A doctor?”

She blinked, then returned my smile with a rueful edge. “Thank you, no. I will be all right. It is just so very cold, is all.” I could hear the sweet undertones of a Tournish accent in her voice – she’d done her best to banish it, but it was there.

“In that case, allow me to offer my jacket,” I said, slipping off my coat and holding it out to her. “The cold doesn’t bother me much.” Nor did the heat, in point of fact. As a daedra, I can be naked at twenty below or in a wool suit at fifty above and it doesn’t bother me in the slightest – but it would have been indiscreet to mention that to the lady.

She slid on the coat with a look of immense gratitude. “Thank you. I am in your debt, Lord…?”

“John,” I said, bowing to her. “John Tifree, second son to Baron Gamaliel Tifree of Menth.” All of which was a lie, of course. Young Lord John was invited to the Winter Ball, but he was indisposed for the evening. It seems that a particularly energetic romp with a cute little blonde had left him so drained that he would sleep soundly until morning. (Having I mentioned that incubi can shapeshift? Well, we can – and I’m nothing if not flexible. In all senses of the word.) Point being, it would have been rather bad form if John didn’t show up, and great humanitarian that I am, I was happy to take his place. So far even his own father hadn’t noticed the difference.

"Thank you, Lord John," the lady said. "I am the Baronesa Delilah Velasco de Moraine. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She extended a hand, palm downward, and I kissed it.

"The pleasure is mine," I said. "Moraine … would that be Baron Vincent Moraine of Cardale?" I'd heard that Baron Moraine had had a wedding recently; if this was the bride in question, he'd married up.

"The same." Her voice was calm, without inflection, but the muscles around her eyes tightened slightly.

"Moraine is a distinguished house, with a proud history," I said. "I must admit, though, I'm surprised not to see the baron with you. Is he ill?"

Delilah grimaced. "No. He is upstairs—" she gestured with her chin at the staircase "—discussing politics." She almost spat out the word, and I filed away that tidbit for future reference.

"Ahh, yes. There's an election coming up this fall, is there not?"

She nodded wearily. "My lord husband is hoping to win one of the open peer seats in the Metamorian Senate. He is … most enthusiastic about it."

"Ah! Well, best of luck to him, then. It's so good to see other nobles taking an interest in public service." I waggled my brows at her. "Saves me from having to do it."

She laughed. "I take it you do not like the 'great game' very much?"

"Heavens, no," I chuckled. "I'm a creature of the arts, myself."

Delilah raised her eyebrows in a look of genuine interest. "You paint?"

"Well, yes, but only badly," I admitted. "I'm better with music and dancing." I craned my neck over the crowds to look out at the ballroom floor. It was still early in the evening, and the great organized dances had not yet begun, but the musicians were already playing softly in the background as the guests milled around chatting. "Speaking of dance, would you join me on the floor tonight? Assuming your husband is unavailable, of course." I smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid I'm without a partner tonight."

She lowered her eyes and blushed. "I don't know…" she murmured.

"What's the matter?" I asked, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. "I've never known a Tourniard who didn't dance."

"It's not that," she said. "I just … The dances that you do here are very strange." She blushed. "So stiff, so formal. So many rules. I lose my place, forget the steps." Her voice fell to almost a whisper. "The last time I tried, they laughed at me. They tried to hide it, but I could hear them."

I felt a pang of genuine sympathy for her, and an utter disgust at the baron. He had won the hand of this beautiful foreign flower, only to drag her to these parties and then abandon her to the predations of gossips and social climbers. I had found my mission here just in time.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “The Metamorian peerage can be terribly cruel to outsiders. I fear that many of us have forgotten the reason that these balls and festivals were created: as a celebration of life.”

“Yes!” she said, as if I’d just voiced something she believed in fervently but had been too shy to say. “Exactly so. Why must everything be about who is better than someone else? Why must we make others feel worse to feel better about ourselves?” She shook her head. “It is not so in Tourne. There we have a saying: ‘Companions divide sorrows and multiply blessings.’”

I smiled. “A good saying. But another adage also comes to mind: 'Trouble comes calling of its own accord, but joy waits for an invitation.'" I ran my eyes over the room until I spotted the Master of Ceremonies, his red fur standing out dramatically amid the pale winter colors worn by most of the guests. "I have an idea, but I must speak to that gentleman about it. By your leave, milady?"

Delilah seemed reluctant to let me go, but I could tell she was curious what I had in mind. She nodded, and I headed over to bend the fox's sizable ear.

As I hope is apparent by now, I don't rely on my supernatural abilities every time I want something from someone. Often a little mundane diplomacy gets the job done just as well, and without running the risk of garnering the attention of large men with pointy bits of enchanted steel. In this case it took a few minutes of chatting with the MC, then a few more minutes to clear the matter with Count Hershel Brightleaf, the elder lord who was hosting the ball. The old fox got a twinkle in his eye when I explained my idea. The Brightleafs have a long and proud history of bucking the status quo — which isn't all that surprising, given that the founder of their house carried a double-bladed axe into battle and was known for wearing a necklace made from the ears of his enemies.

Anyway, once I had the count's blessing, it was easy enough to arrange matters with the musicians. If anything, they were more enthusiastic than I was. I was back at Delilah's side within fifteen minutes.

"Sorry for the delay," I said, handing her a martini I had snagged from a servant on the way back.

She nodded her thanks and took the drink. "Did everything work out like you planned?"

I showed her a wry smile. "We'll find out soon enough."

Just then the MC came up to the stage and announced the official start of the night's festivities. He spent several minutes welcoming the most important guests, announcing their titles and honors while the rest of us answered with polite applause. With the ass-kissing portion of the program now completed, the younger Brightleaf stood a bit straighter and smiled.

“Now, it is my pleasure to announce the opening of the Winter Ball!” he said. “Gentlemen, please escort your ladies to the dance floor.”

I offered my arm to Delilah. “Would you do me the honor, my lady? I promise you won't want to miss this.”

After a moment's hesitation, she took my arm and walked out with me, handing my jacket back to me on the way. As we took a spot near the front of the dance floor, the MC spoke again.

“I have consulted with Count Brightleaf, and it is his wish that we deviate somewhat from the ball's usual repertoire. In addition to the usual fast waltz, slow waltz, quadrille, and minuet, the evening's festivities will include other styles of dance from around the Empire. The count hopes that this will engage the interest of our younger guests and give everyone the opportunity to truly enjoy themselves.”

Delilah caught my eye and gave me a questioning look. I winked at her.

Up on stage, the musicians pulled out a pair of aerophones. My Tournish lady spotted them and stared in astonishment. The MC confirmed her suspicions a moment later.

“The first dance tonight will be a tango in the traditional Tournish style,” he said. “Any couples who wish not to participate should please move to the edges of the dance floor.”

Most of the older nobles moved out of the way, some of them muttering under their breath about “that mad old fox” and his antics. At the same time, a crowd of younger lordlings hastened to join us, their eyes bright with anticipation.

Delilah just looked at me with a mixture of admiration and incredulity. “You did this in fifteen minutes?”

I shrugged. “I know this band well. They play at many of the less formal parties put on by the young people. I think you'll find that the next generation is a bit more open-minded about their choice of dancing styles.” I gave her my most dazzling grin and took off the jacket again, handing it off to one of the servants. “Shall we show them how it's done?”

She answered my grin with one of her own, a dazzling display of dark, sparkling eyes and perfect teeth. “Try to keep up with me, Lord John.”

The music began, the violins and aerophones taking the lead. Delilah and I entered the close embrace, my left hand joined with her right as I slipped my other hand around her back. The opening strains of the song led into the familiar 4/4 rhythm, and we began to move, stepping in time with each other and the flow of the music.

I had danced with many people over the years, everyone from a stately old marchioness to the teenagers bumping and grinding at a Street-level rave. None of those experiences compared to dancing the tango with Delilah Moraine. All of her self-consciousness and uncertainty fell away like a moth-eaten blanket, exposing the proud and passionate spirit underneath. She followed my lead on the dance floor with an awareness that was nearly telepathic, spinning, turning and wrapping her body around mine with sensual, liquid grace. The slinky dress that had looked so woefully out of fashion now worked to her advantage, for it allowed her a freedom of movement that the women in longer gowns couldn't even dream of.

We prowled around the floor like a pair of jungle cats, our presence commanding such attention that some couples left the floor in order to watch us. Delilah's aura crackled with sexual energy, invisible but impossible to ignore. I soaked it up like a plant soaks up water, and what I tasted only made me hungry for more.

At some point we left the line of dance and found ourselves in the center of the circle. I spun her through the air in a saltito and lowered her to the floor, where she twirled away from me to arm's length. I caught her hands, stopping her spin. Her legs flashed in and out, back and forth in a dramatic show of footwork. Then, without missing a beat, she wrapped one leg around my back and hooked me back in, a bold and dramatic move that left many of the younger dancers cheering. I stepped her through a few more turns, trading steps into each other's space, then let her slide between my outstretched legs. She wrapped herself around one of them in a full turn and ended up on one knee in front of me, as her hand drew my head down close to hers.

The song ended there, with our bodies entwined and our lips so close that I could taste her breath mixing with mine. I looked into her dark eyes and saw her pupils dilate with arousal. If it hadn't been for the cheering crowd around us, she might have let me take her there and then. Instead she smiled and whispered, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” I rose and helped her to her feet. We exited the dance floor under the disapproving glares of the old guard and the appreciative hoots and whistles of the young people. Delilah ignored them all, looking utterly radiant as we made our way over to one of the refreshment tables. After the exertion of the tango, we avoided the alcohol and went for bottled water instead.

I glanced around the room as I cracked open the cap and took a drink. “So, do you think your husband saw any of that?”

Delilah scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. “Vincent does not care about the ball. He is here to hunt for votes, nothing more. He will not come down until it is time to leave.”

“More's the pity,” I said. “If the man would get on a dance floor with you, he might realize there are more important things than politics.”

She smiled at the compliment, but her eyes turned sad. “Perhaps.”

Just then one of the young couples we had been dancing with came up to congratulate us. Delilah smiled and chatted with them for a few minutes, but hesitated when they invited her to their home for a dinner party in February. She finally told them that she would need to clear it with her husband first, and they seemed to accept this. The young lord gave her a business card with his contact information before they politely excused themselves.

Delilah stared at the card for a moment, then held it up in front of me. “This is a minefield,” she said. “I go here, and how long will it be before I say or do something that offends them? They like me tonight, thanks to you, but do they truly want to be my friends, or are they only interested because I am … um…”

“Exotic?” I suggested dryly.

She snapped her finger and pointed it at me. “Exactly. I am a … a curiosity.”

I couldn't help it; I laughed at that. “My lady, Metamor City plays host to everything from Irombian sorcerers to fallen gods. Our host for this event is a sixty year-old anthropomorphic fox. Curiosities are a dek a dozen here.”

She blushed, raising her bottle to me in a salute. “I see your point. But this does not change my problem.”

I frowned and stroked my chin, as if thinking carefully. I had her exactly where I wanted her, but I couldn't appear too eager. “I may be able to help you with that,” I said. “I told you before that I work in the arts. One of the ways I make my living is as a private dance instructor. Perhaps we could meet – say, three days a week – so I could teach you some of the more formal dances you've been having trouble with. Along the way, I could also instruct you in the finer points of Metamorian etiquette.” I grinned. “I think I can show you to how to navigate some of those minefields.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, would you? That would be wonderful! When could we begin?”

I shrugged. “When is your husband away from the house? We will need several hours of uninterrupted time, and I wouldn't want to take away from your time together.”

She rolled her eyes. “Between this election race and his holdings in Cardale, he is away more often than he is home.” She gave me the address for their penthouse suite. “Come tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock. The servants will let you in.”

“Perfect,” I said. I pulled a business card out of my pocket and handed it to her. “If you need to reschedule, call me at this number.”

She looked down at the card, frowned, then looked back up at me. “It says here that you are 'Mister Jonathan Vance, Dance Instructor.'”

I nodded. “Indeed it does.”

“So? Why does it not say 'Lord John Tifree'?”

I gave her my best reassuring smile. “Lord John is only a persona made for public consumption. This face,” I said, gesturing at myself, “is not my real face. Jonathan Vance is another persona who serves another role. To outward appearances, there is nothing to connect them to one another, and that's the way I like it.”

She nodded slowly, comprehension dawning on her face. “So this Vance is who you become when you are tired of playing the baron's son.”

See, that's one of the things I love about my job. There's nothing quite as satisfying as telling someone the truth in a way that leads them to completely the wrong conclusion. “Basically, yes,” I said.

Her dark eyes glittered. “So, who is the real you, John? Who are you when you are not pretending to be something else?”

I took her hand and raised it to my lips, then gave it one slow, meaningful kiss. I felt her shiver under my touch, and looked up at her through heavily lidded eyes. “Perhaps you'll find out tomorrow,” I said.


After the ball I returned to John Tifree's apartment, deposited his clothes in the hamper and resumed my role as the pretty young blonde he'd brought home yesterday. He woke up the next morning thinking that I'd been there the entire night. After another pleasant romp in the sack to recharge the metaphysical batteries, I got cleaned up and went back to the local temple of the Church of Hedonism.

Home is where you keep your stuff when you're not using it, so I guess the temple qualifies. I went in the back door to the priests' quarters, stripped off my clothes and deposited them in one of the hampers; they would be cleaned and put back in the communal closets, where we kept a wide array of outfits to match the different forms we might have to shapeshift into. Within the temple itself there was no need for clothing.

I changed back to my true form, a hundred and eighty centimeters of lean, sculpted masculinity, with yellow eyes, ruddy skin, and jet-black hair. I didn’t have the cloven feet that people often associate with daedra, but I did sport a large pair of curving ram’s horns, and a prehensile tail with a spade-shaped tip. We can do these big, batlike wings, too, but they’re awkward and heavy when we’re just walking around, so I usually don’t bother.

I checked in with Jasmine, the head priestess, and reported on the evening's events with both Tifree and Delilah. Then I grabbed a notebook computer and sat down in the mess hall to do some research over breakfast.

Right now I imagine some of you are wondering how we could openly build an organized religion around hedonism. Well, I'm glad you asked! Just follow the bouncing dogma:

In the beginning was the Great Maker, and she – or he, or it – was all that existed. This was bad, because the Maker hungered for experiences and perspective to give its existence meaning. That's pretty hard to do when there's nothing to experience, and no one else to give you a different point of view. So the Maker created the universe out of itself, dividing its essence into a billion trillion fragments in order to spread the divine spark throughout the cosmos.

Now, all of those fragments represented different parts of the Maker's personality – or what we would call a personality, if the Maker had had anyone to interact with. One of the larger, stronger fragments became the lady Suspira, the Queen of Daedra and the ancestor of all incubi and succubae. Suspira was the embodiment of what we call the Hedonist Principle: the part of the Maker that hungered to experience pleasure, in all its myriad forms. The incubi and succubae, as Suspira's descendants, each carry a piece of her divine spark within us.

The Church of Hedonism is one of the many Universalist faiths, all of which hold to the same basic story but focus on different fragments of the Great Maker. All of these churches teach that mortals carry a piece of the divine spark inside themselves, an inner nature that reflects a particular aspect of the Great Maker. Enlightenment comes when you become one with that inner nature, embodying it as perfectly as you can within the confines of a mortal life. That way, when you die, the spark within you will understand itself, and rejoin with other pieces of the Great Maker that are most like itself. Eventually, when everyone has achieved enlightenment, the Maker will finally understand itself, and the universe will be reborn as a perfect expression of the way things ought to be.

Hey, it could be true. And if it is, that's really convenient, 'cause it means that some mortals can achieve their eternal purpose by just having a good time. Oh, yes, and it means that they can partake of the divine nature by having sex with the incubi and succubae who serve as the priests and priestesses of the church. And if they consent to having children with us — well, that's just about the holiest thing of all, because it means that their bloodline will be mixed with the essence of the pleasure goddess herself. And if it keeps us fed, gives power to Lady Suspira and provides us with the means to reproduce ourselves, well, that works out well for everybody, doesn't it?

Like I said, it's a good story. But I've never been too big on the organized side of religion. Officiating services and leading orgies with the same group of disciples week after week is … well … boring. It's preaching to the converted. Our high priestess understands that, so she sends me out to find the prospective candidates who might never consider Suspira's message if they didn't have somebody to teach them. They might not listen if I showed up as an incubus — but if I seem to be a regular guy, and teach by example? Then I've got a chance.

It's a good gig. I like to call it my “undercover missionary work.” But it does require a little bit of prep time.

I pulled up everything I could find on Baron Vincent Moraine and his lovely wife. The baron was a classic social climber, more concerned with respect and power than anything else. He had some family businesses, which ran best when he kept his hands off of them, and some favorite charities, strategically located in the demesnes of certain key noble houses. But when it came to the carnal side of life, the church had no records on him at all. He could have been an Ecclesiast monk for all the interest he'd shown in the fairer sex – nor had he shown any evidence of more masculine tastes. His first and only love, as far as anyone could tell, was the political arena.

The Metamorian Senate is a two-tiered structure, with four hundred common seats and one hundred peer seats. The commoners have their election and the nobles have theirs, and together they make up the highest elected body in Metamor. The outer provinces have their own legislatures and their own means of choosing them, but in Metamor proper, the only voters Moraine had to win over were the other members of the peerage. On the one hand, that meant that he could focus his efforts on a relatively small number of people; on the other hand, the people he did have to win over were very hard to impress. Moraine was going to have to convince them that they could advance their own houses' prospects by allying themselves with his.

In light of that, the baron's recent marriage made more sense. House Velasco was one of the most powerful families in the province of Tourne, with four grand lordships and a net worth of over two billion marks. Delilah was the eldest child of the Duke of Tournemire; traditionally, the duchy would have passed to her younger brother, but there was a bill making its way through the Tournish parliament that would abolish male preference in the chain of succession. Baron Moraine must have known something was in the works, because the wedding happened barely two weeks before the bill was announced.

It was a stunning bit of maneuver, but I suspected that Delilah was feeling rather used. Unlike her new husband, we did have files on Delilah; she'd had several prominent relationships during her twenties, and at least one that the paparazzi had never gotten wind of. Each of those trysts had either ended sadly or been cut off at the request of the duke, who apparently had bigger things planned for his firstborn child. With her conveniently-timed marriage to the Baron Moraine, it was obvious what her father had had in mind. Gods, no wonder she hated politics.

I brought my findings back to Jasmine.

“You're right,” she said, her catlike eyes gleaming. “This is a tremendous opportunity. I want you to focus all your efforts on winning her over.”

“Just what I had in mind,” I said.

As I turned to go, she called out to me. “John?”

I turned around. Her expression was uncharacteristically grim.

“We can't afford to incur the wrath of the Moraines and the Velascos,” she said. “If you screw this one up, we'll have to disavow all knowledge of your actions. Be careful.”

I snorted, nodded once, and headed for the door. “Always did love a challenge.”


I showed my card to the security personnel at Moraine Tower. After getting approval from upstairs, they unlocked the lift controls and gave me a ride up to the penthouse suite. I was met at the entry hall by a distinguished-looking butler in his late fifties. He had pale skin, bone-white hair, and azure-blue eyes. His nostrils flared as I stepped out of the lift, and his eyes lit up like a pair of pilot lights.

Damn it, of all the luck. Why did the butler have to be a freaking asimaar?!

Suppressing my fear, I handed him my card and bowed, stiffly. “Jonathan Vance, at your service. I have a one o'clock appointment with Baronesa Delilah Velasco de Moraine.”

The butler examined my card, completely unimpressed. He glowered up at the guard in the lift. “He has been searched?” he asked, his voice tinged with a distinct Brekklander accent.

“Yes, sir,” the guard said. “No weapons, potions or reagents. One amulet.”

Angel-eyes turned his burning gaze back onto me. “Let me see it.”

Obediently, I opened the top two buttons of my shirt and spread it open to reveal the fertility-suppression amulet. Lots of single men wear them, but it's doubly important for us incubi, since our sperm are so hardy that pregnancy is practically guaranteed. Even standard-issue birth control charms are useless against us; mine is the extra-strength version, and I still burn through them about once a month.

I smiled blandly. “Never leave home without it.”

The butler harrumphed. “'Dance instructor,' eh? And vhat sort of … dancing do you do, Mr Vance?”

“Oh, I'm very versatile,” I assured him. “Classical, folk, and urban styles from half a dozen provinces. The Baronesa was particularly interested in learning the traditional ballroom dances of Metamor.” My smile went tight-lipped. “Speaking of which, you are now cutting in to her paid instruction time.”

The butler's eyes narrowed, but before he could speak Delilah's voice came echoing down the hall. “Gerhard? Has my guest arrived?”

The asimaar stiffened as Delilah came out into the hall. She was dressed in a white unitard that showed off her lean, athletic frame, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was barefoot, and as such she seemed a few centimeters shorter than she had when I first met her. None of it detracted from her beauty in the slightest.

She ignored the butler and faced me directly. “Good day to you, Mister Vance.”

I bowed deeply. “Good day, my lady. Are you ready to begin?”

“At once. The exercise room is this way; please follow me.”

She led me to a truly beautiful private gym, with a variety of exercise equipment and a large expanse of hardwood flooring that was clearly intended as a dance floor. The room was lit by skylights and had mirrors along the length of one wall, giving a very bright, open feeling. Small, unobtrusive speakers were mounted at regular intervals along the ceiling.

“I like the new look,” Delilah said, once we were behind closed doors. “Is that the real you?”

I caught my reflection in the mirror. My skin was lightly tanned, my eyes were hazel, and I obviously didn’t have my horns or my tail, but other than that I looked pretty much like myself. “Close enough,” I said. “A few minor cosmetic changes, for vanity’s sake. I think your butler might have smelled them and suspected foul play.”

Delilah sighed. “I apologize for Gerhard. He is a good worker, but perhaps overly suspicious.”

Or maybe just suspicious enough, I thought but didn’t say. I forced a smile. “Well. No harm done. Shall we begin with a few warm-up exercises?”

I spent the next three hours giving Delilah an overview of the quadrille, the most complex of the four major dances practiced in Metamor's high society. Along the way I worked in lessons on etiquette and protocol, and some of the more dangerous cultural land-mines that she might be expected to run across. Delilah was a quick learner, obviously intelligent and eager, and the hours passed swiftly.

I stayed on my best behavior, keeping my aura locked down as tightly as possible. I wasn't taking any chances with that butler around; asimaar can smell a daedra's influence like a shark smells blood. At one point Gerhard barged in on us, making profound apologies for the interruption but explaining that he must have Delilah's signature on something. He seemed almost disappointed when he saw that I really was teaching her how to dance.

Our time was up far too soon, but we made arrangements to meet again in two days' time. I was back in the entry hall and waiting for the lift when Gerhard accosted me.

“I am vatching you, Mr Vance,” he said, his tone low and dangerous. “You may fool my mistress, but not me. I can smell ze stink of daedra on you.”

“That's true,” I admitted. “Just as I can smell the celestial on you.” I put on a weary, careworn expression. “I can't choose my heritage, Gerhard. All I can do is endeavor not to let it control me.”

The lift doors opened and I stepped inside. Gerhard put his hand on the door to keep it from closing. “And vhy should I believe zat you can rise above your nature?”

I smirked at him. “How can you not? After all, you're part angel, and you've clearly done a fine job of overcoming that.”

He drew back his hand as if stung, the color rising into his pale cheeks. I winked at him, then pushed the button that closed the doors.


Gerhard's presence at Moraine Tower required me to be more subtle than I usually prefer. For the first few weeks I kept all my interactions with Delilah strictly professional, as I continued schooling her in the ways of the Metamor peerage. On my third visit I had a stroke of inspiration, and had Delilah summon both Gerhard and the maid to meet us in the gym.

“The quadrille depends on two couples dancing together,” I explained. “It's almost impossible to teach it with only two people. Are both of you familiar with the dance?”

Gerhard nodded stiffly. The maid, a pretty twentysomething from Lanton, was more enthusiastic.

“Oui, monsieur,” she said, beaming. “Ze quadrille was invented in Lanton.” She laughed. “I know it like my mother's smile.”

“Magnifique!” I said. “What is your name, my dear?”

She curtsied. “Ysabel, monsieur.”

“Well, Ysabel, I shall be most indebted to you for your experience. You and Gerhard will work with me to teach your mistress the quadrille.” I looked over at Delilah. “Assuming that meets with your approval, my lady?”

Delilah smiled knowingly. “It does,” she said.

Gerhard looked like he'd just swallowed something unpleasant. “Mistress … our duties…”

“Can wait, for a few hours,” Delilah said. “Come now, Gerhard. You will be doing me a great service.”

Reluctantly, he bowed. “As you vish, my lady.”

For all his personality defects, Gerhard was quite a good dancer. Having him and Ysabel there made the lesson much more productive, while also making it impossible for the butler to say that I was up to any mischief. It worked so well, in fact, that I had them do it again. And again. By the end of the second week, Gerhard had given up trying to catch me in something and started looking for excuses to be away from the penthouse when I showed up. This, of course, served my interests perfectly.

Ysabel seemed disappointed when she informed us that Gerhard would be unavailable. She'd been enjoying our lessons immensely, and she blushed whenever we switched partners and she found herself in my arms. Magnanimous fellow that I am, I let her join us as I introduced Delilah to the fast waltz, using her as a model to show her mistress the steps and figures. I switched back and forth between the two women over the course of the lesson, until all of us had worked up a good sweat. At the end, because Ysabel begged for it, Delilah and I demonstrated the tango for her. The Baronesa was even more passionate and sultry than she had been at the Winter Ball, and my aura flowed outward in response to her, amplifying the sexual energy in the room. By the time we finished, Ysabel was breathing harder than either of us.

Delilah stepped back out of my embrace and took a deep breath. “Well. That was … invigorating. Thank you, John.”

I bowed to her. “Thank you, my lady.”

She wiped the sweat from her brow. “I am going to bathe, I think. If you wish, you may use the servants' shower before you leave. Ysabel, will you see that Mr Vance is cared for?”

Ysabel curtsied. “With pleasure, Madame.”

“Very good.” Delilah hesitated, as if she were going to say something else, then gave me a brief nod. “Until next time, Mr Vance.”

She left us then, heading for the master suite. Ysabel took my hand and gave it a gentle tug. “Right zis way, Monsieur Vance.”

The servants' bathroom was furnished simply but well, with white marble tiles, ample counter space, and a large shower stall with a bench and a handrail, which may have been intended for Gerhard. Ysabel showed me how to operate the shower and where to find the towels and wash cloths. I thanked her for her help and turned my back on her as I began unbuttoning my shirt. I heard the bathroom door shut behind me.

A moment later I felt her body press against me, and saw her hands reaching around to help me with my buttons.

“Was there something else, Ysabel?” I asked, the amusement showing in my voice.

I felt her breath on my ear. “Mistress said to be sure you were cared for.” She took my earlobe into her mouth and nibbled on it, as she reached up and ran her hands over my bare chest. “I must do my job well.”

And boy, was she ever. I could feel myself getting hard already. I allowed her to pull off my shirt. “Well then,” I said. “I wouldn't want you to get in trouble.”

She spun me around and pressed me up against the wall, kissing me hard on the lips. “Zen you must tell me when you feel I have cared for you enough.”

I smiled and helped her pull off her dress. “Keep going,” I said. “You'll know when I'm ready for you to stop.”


A bathroom isn't my favorite place in the world to have sex, but it does have the benefit of easy cleanup. Ysabel and I took advantage of this, and by the time we were both washed and dressed there was nothing left behind to tell Gerhard of our activities. Before we left the servants' wing, Ysabel pulled me in for one more deep kiss.

I may not be the smartest daedra in the world, but I know how to turn an opportunity to my advantage. With the maid on my side, I'd have someone to run interference for me with Gerhard — and if I played this right, she might be able to help me with something else, too. She'd already shown an inclination to become what I needed her to be; all it would take was a little push.

As Ysabel kissed me, I stretched out my power to her, wrapping it around that place in her psyche where animal attraction lives. I gave her a nudge, subtly loosening her inhibitions – what was left of them, anyway. I parted my lips from hers but held her close, whispering into her ear.

“I need your help, Ysabel. Will you help me?”

“Oui, Monseiur John. Anything!”

I kissed her gently behind the ear. “Your mistress is trapped in a life without love. Without joy. I'm going to free her.”

She let out a little moan of delight. “Ah oui! You must, monseiur, you must! She is so sad…”

“And beautiful,” I said.

“Oh, certainement,” she agreed.

Just as I suspected. I gave her psyche another nudge. “You want to make love to her, don't you? You dream of burying your head between those strong, shapely thighs … making her cry out in pleasure…”

“I … I do!” she cried. “I do dream of it! Oh, monseiur, she is my mistress! What shall I do?”

I put my finger to her lips. “Don't worry, Ysabel. This is good! I will not be with her forever, and when I am gone you will need to be there to help bring joy to her life. For now, just be available to her. Watch for your opportunity. When she is ready, she will come to you.”

She kissed my fingertip and pulled it away from her mouth. “How do you know?”

I grinned and placed a light kiss on her forehead. “I'll take care of it. Just promise that you'll help me keep Gerhard from finding out about this.”

She nodded soberly. “I will. I can keep Gerhard busy so you will have more time alone with ze mistress.”

“Perfect,” I said, heading for the door. “Just … don't try to divert him the way you just diverted me. The poor man's heart probably couldn't take it.”


Ysabel was as good as her word, and twice as clever as I gave her credit for. She talked to Gerhard incessantly about the wonderful things she was learning in our dance classes, and kept wheedling for him to come back and join us. Delilah would order him to participate any time he was actually in the penthouse, so after a couple more appearances he consistently found urgent business that required him to be elsewhere. In the event that he couldn't come up with a reason to leave, Ysabel would casually remark that they were out of some ingredient for the evening's dinner, or that the skimmer needed to be taken in for maintenance, and Gerhard would immediately rush to attend to the matter. I think Ysabel came off as being so sweet and innocuous that it never occurred to him that she might be conning him.

After that first day in the shower, Ysabel could hardly keep her hands off of me. Our private “exercise sessions” were a delightful way for me to gain back the energy I expended while dancing — though I was careful not to take too much of her life force, lest I leave her unconscious on the bathroom floor.

Through it all I never made a move toward Delilah, treating her only with the utmost courtesy. She noticed this, betraying it with little sidelong glances and unfinished sentences. The only time I let any passion reveal itself was in our dancing, where our combined fire could have melted lead. Once the dance was over, though, I reined in my aura and returned to an attitude of polite deference.

It took about three weeks before she'd had enough.

“Ysabel,” she said, after one particularly energetic session. “Go ahead and get cleaned up. I would like a word with Mister Vance.”

Disappointment warred with anticipation on the girl's face. “Oui, Madame. Monseiur John.” She curtsied to each of us, then left, shutting the door behind her.

I raised my eyebrows slightly. “My lady?”

She said nothing at first. Turning, she grabbed a towel from one of the nearby pieces of exercise equipment and mopped her brow. She used the gesture to avoid looking at me as she spoke. “I know what you are doing with Ysabel.”

I lowered my head in a slow nod. “I never presumed that you didn't.”

She set down the towel and retrieved her water bottle. She took a long drink before speaking again. “Would you care to explain yourself?”

I shrugged. “She's a beautiful young woman. She offered; I accepted.” I hesitated. “If you command it, I'll refuse her in the future.”

“That is not what I meant,” she said, wheeling on me. Her eyes smoldered with anger. “I want you to explain how you have treated me.”

I cocked my head at her, saying nothing.

She let out a sound of exasperation. “When we dance, there is this … this energy between us. This … connection. I felt it the first time we danced at the ball, and I feel it every time since … as if our souls were touching.” She gestured fitfully. “But then the dance ends, and you become so … so cold to me. And then you go and give yourself to Ysabel instead. You make me feel beautiful, and then you take it away.” She came up and looked me squarely in the eye. “It is cruel, John. And I did not believe that you were a cruel man. So I want you to tell me why you do this.”

I reached out and took her hands gently in mine. She didn't flinch away. “My lady, I meant no disrespect. I've felt the same connection that you feel. Whenever I leave here, I hunger for it until I return. But you are married.”

“¡Tontarrón!” she snapped. “My marriage is a joke! It is a … a 'persona made for public consumption.'” She echoed the words I had used to describe my own identity as John Tifree, and I winced at the bitter sound she put in the words. She pulled her hands free from mine and turned away, bowing her head. “Do you know how many times Vincent and I have made love since our honeymoon? Five. Five times in seven months.” She looked up at the skylight overhead. “Every time, it was because I asked him why he didn't touch me. He never comes to me first. At first, I thought he was just busy, but … it makes me think that there is something wrong with me.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

“No,” I said hoarsely. “There's nothing wrong with you, Delilah.” I shrugged helplessly. “Some people just don't have any sex drive. They can't help it, it's just part of who they are. Maybe that's the problem with Vincent.”

“But that is not the problem with you.” She looked over her shoulder at me, misery etched on her face. “I feel so alone here. A pawn in other people's games. Vincent wants the power of House Velasco. My father wants House Moraine's connections in Metamor. No one seems to care about what I want.”

I took a step towards her. “And what do you want, Delilah?”

She looked down at my hands, then back to my eyes. “To be touched. To feel close to someone … even for just a little while.”

I came over and placed my hands on her shoulders. She turned to me then, slowly, and I placed a hand under her chin and guided her lips to mine. She tasted every bit as sweet as I had imagined.

I kissed her slowly, gently, savoring the moment. I wrapped my arms around her and just held her, letting her set the pace. Where Ysabel was all hurried, youthful enthusiasm, Delilah had maturity and experience on her side. She knew how to take her time.

Somewhere in the course of that embrace we started moving together – slow, fluid steps, a turn, more steps. She reached down and took my left hand in hers, while her other hand went to my right bicep: the abrazo, the close embrace of the tango. Our feet found the familiar patterns instinctively, moving around the room to a music that no one heard but both of us could feel. We did everything at half-tempo – spinning her out, drawing her back in, letting her wrap herself around me as we turned in slow, gentle circles. Each time we came back together our lips would meet, stirring more of the passion inside us.

Her hands found the buttons of my shirt and opened them. When she came back from a spin, running her body down my leg and back up again, her hands opened the fly of my slacks. I lifted her in a saltito, and when she came back down I opened the zipper at the back of her unitard. She turned and spun as I freed first one arm, then the other, then she pushed down the fabric in one smooth motion and stepped free of it.

She hooked a leg around me and drew me in, then slid slowly downward, taking my pants and boxers with her. We paused there while she untied my shoes, the first time in all of it that we had broken the rhythm of the dance. I stepped out of the garments as she rose, then met her in a deep and fiery kiss as she slipped the shirt off of my shoulders. We found the rhythm again and began to dance once more, our clothing scattered across the dance floor. Two bodies moved as one, with nothing but air and sweat between them.

Freed of all constraints, our dancing became even more overtly erotic. I raised her into a lift and nuzzled her breasts; she stepped between my legs and drew the side of her calf against my cock, gently stroking it to life. She ran her tongue over one of my nipples; I left a trail of kisses down the side of her neck. When at last we were both so aroused that neither of us could bear it a moment longer, I spun us out of the line of dance, picked her up, and pressed her against the wall. She wrapped her arms and legs around me without hesitation, and in one smooth motion I slid myself inside her.

The rhythm of the dance now shifted to another kind of rhythm, but we still took our time, reveling in the feeling of our bodies moving together. My aura lapped up the sexual energy coming off of her, boosting my strength and stamina. With her back braced against the wall, I could hold her up all day if I had to.

“Oh gods,” she breathed. “Don't stop. Don't stop, John.”

“Wasn't … planning on it,” I said. I pinned her to the wall with a hard, deep thrust, then leaned forward to suck on one of her nipples. She mewled and moaned at the teasing of my lips and tongue, then grabbed the hair at the back of my head and turned my face upward for a soul-searing kiss.

The intensity and emotion in that kiss surprised even me, and I know from kissing. Something shifted between us, a realignment of energies – or maybe the balance of power. I found myself sinking to the floor with Delilah on top of me, looking up in wonder at this shining vision of womanhood above me. Now she set the rhythm, rising and falling above me, driving both of us into greater heights of ecstasy. I forgot my mission, forgot my persona, forgot the thousand lies and manipulations that had brought me to this place. I forgot about my infernal powers to bend people to my will. As impossible as it may sound, I even forgot about feeding. In this moment, all that mattered was that I was a man, and she was a woman, and together we were experiencing a connection that touched us in the very center of our being.

She rode me to a shuddering climax, washing me in a torrent of sexual energy. I followed her an instant later. She collapsed onto my chest, kissing me slowly, tenderly — as if I were a person who mattered to her, and not just a convenient respite from a loveless marriage. Not just a creature who had to take something from her in order to survive.

I felt her aura wrapping itself around me, and it was bright and shining and beautiful. An aura of light – not the smoke and shadows that surround me when I call on my powers. She embraced me with her whole being, enfolding me with it. The sensation was like nothing I had ever experienced. I felt warm, and safe, and …

Loved.

Holy shit. What do I do now?


The next morning I sat staring at my breakfast, my mind a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings. I didn't notice Jasmine watching me until she sat on the edge of the table and leaned over onto one hand above my plate, sticking her bare tits in my face in the process. I blinked and looked up at her face, which carried an expression of droll amusement. “Do I have your attention now, John?”

I winced. “Sorry. Did you need something, ma'am?”

She snorted and sat up, facing me. “I should ask you the same question,” she said. “You've barely moved in the last ten minutes. Where's your head today, anyway?”

I sighed. “Gods, I don't know. Having sex with Delilah was … strange.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That's like a fish saying that water tastes funny. Strange how?”

I gestured helplessly. “Look, have you had a fuck that was so … emotionally intense that you felt like the whole world had changed around you? Like being with that person was the most important thing you could do, and … and somehow you're emptier when you have to leave them … but you'd still do it all over again in a heartbeat, just to be with them for that one moment?”

Jasmine stared at me open-mouthed for three full seconds. Then she laughed in my face.

“Oh. My. Goddess,” she chortled. “I can not believe I'm hearing this! John, you stupid fuck, you went and fell in love with your target!”

“No!” I protested.

She just grinned at me, as she reached down and tugged on my cock with the tip of her tail. “Liar.”

I brushed her away and crossed my legs, annoyed. “All right, maybe,” I admitted. “But that right there should tell you something's not right! You know me; I've been doing this for fifteen years! I'm a professional, not some starry-eyed kid.”

She crossed her arms, pushing her tits up a little higher. I admired the view, but not the way I used to. “All right,” she said. “So what do you think the problem is?”

I wanted to tell her that there was no problem, that I'd spend the rest of my life at Delilah's side if she so much as asked me to … but that wasn't the sort of thing a Hedonist priest could say to his boss. “You know how we're supposed to be finding people who embody the Hedonist principle? The folks with a piece of the divine spark that's close to ours?”

She nodded. “Yeah, so?”

I hesitated, taking a drink of my orange juice while I composed my thoughts. “Well, I think maybe Delilah has a different piece. Something related, maybe, but not quite the same.” I swallowed. “Something powerful.”

Jasmine shook her head. “What? You think she's an embodiment of true love, or something?” She put a mocking lilt in the words, and I blushed in spite of myself.

“Maybe,” I said stubbornly. “It would explain why she’s having such a hard time with this political marriage of hers, and why she formed such a strong emotional bond with me. And why not? The pantheon has Velena as well as Suspira. It has kerubs along with incubi and succubae.”

“And the humans have rubes, as well as players,” she countered. “Our lady's dear sister embodies something, all right — but if you ask me, her brand of 'love' is just innocence and gullibility. Kind of cute, in a pathetic sort of way, but nothing you'd want to aspire to.”

I sighed again and rubbed at my temples. “Look, I'm just saying … if I convert her to Hedonism, and her inner nature is something else, she's not going to get anything out of it. Oh, sure, she might enjoy herself, but she's not going to reach enlightenment, because I'd be leading her further away from her true self.” I shrugged. “Then one day she dies, and her divine spark is just as confused as it always was. It gets reborn as someone else and has to go through the whole thing all over again.”

“Sure, along with ninety-nine percent of the rest of the world,” Jasmine said. “John, you're talking about throwing away a gold mine for the sake of an unprovable maybe. If we can plant one of our own inside House Velasco, we'll be in a position to influence the political landscape for generations — and, to be honest, the money wouldn't hurt, either!”

She rose to her feet and put a hand on my shoulder. “We'll be able to touch millions of lives with Velasco's resources. Think about that! Suppose only one in fifty gets enlightenment out of it. That's still more than a fair trade for letting Delilah's soul take another spin on the cosmic merry-go-round.”

I glared at her. “Oh, so this is about money and power. I'm sorry. I didn't realize that we'd changed patrons. All hail Agemnos!”

In retrospect, invoking the Lord of Greed probably wasn't a smart move. Jasmine reeled back as if struck. Her eyes burned like two yellow furnaces as the shadows crept in close around her. Her aura was far stronger than mine, and I instinctively bowed my head in deference. “Forgive me,” I whispered.

“I'll think about it,” she snapped. The priestess stepped forward, grabbed my hair and dragged me to the floor with inhuman strength. I pressed my forehead into the floor and groveled shamelessly. I didn't get this far by defying people like Jasmine.

When she was apparently satisfied that she had my attention, she spoke. “Call it what you will, but converting Delilah Moraine will serve our long-term goals. You will complete your mission. You will sway her to our cause. And when you are assured of her loyalty, you will plant a child within her.” She pressed a long, clawed toe into the side of my throat. “Do your fucking job, John. Or Suspira help me, I'll kick you out and replace you with someone who can.”


Jasmine’s warning was more than just an idle threat: with our shapeshifting powers, any other incubus in Metamor could theoretically fill in for me. Most people would never know the difference. I had a private suspicion that Delilah would be able to tell, if anyone could, but that wouldn’t do me any good if I found myself turned out on the street.

So … I stalled. I focused on persuading Ysabel to convert to Hedonism, telling Jasmine that getting the maid on our side was our first step to winning over the lady. In truth, Ysabel didn’t need much convincing; I think her inner nature was a lot closer to ours to begin with, and I’d given her a few nudges in that direction already. That Saturday Delilah gave her the night off, so Ysabel took my invitation and came to temple for the weekly service. She ate and drank with the other members of the congregation, then listened to Jasmine preach about the liberating power of finding your true self through the exploration of pleasure. After that came the “worship celebration” – Hedonist-speak for a church-sponsored orgy. Ysabel threw herself into it enthusiastically, looking like she’d found the place where she belonged. In the following week’s service she formally dedicated herself to the church: after being anointed with sacred oils, she lay down on the altar before the assembled congregation. Jasmine shifted into a hermaphrodite form, meant to embody the male and female aspects of sexuality in perfect harmony, and fucked her cross-eyed while the church sang songs of praise to Suspira.

Jasmine drew enough energy off of Ysabel to knock her unconscious for hours, but when she woke up she looked radiant. She listened eagerly as Jasmine explained the need to convert Delilah, to convince her to take my seed so that the heir to House Velasco would be one of us. She agreed to do whatever she could to open her mistress up to new ways of experiencing pleasure, so as to make her more receptive to the Hedonist message. I stood back and let Jasmine do the talking. I didn’t want to risk saying anything that would reveal my misgivings about the plan.

The next few months were a balancing act. I continued my clandestine meetings with Delilah, meeting with her more and more as the baron became increasingly tied up in the election race. Delilah had told Vincent about her “dance instructor,” and he was enthusiastically supportive of anything that made his wife feel more at home in Metamor City. He even invited me to stay for dinner once, though he lost any interest in talking to me after I demonstrated a complete indifference toward politics. He saw that my time with Delilah made her happy, though, and after that he seemed content to leave us to our own devices. If he ever suspected his wife of having an affair, he gave no sign of it.

No, the real danger was in arousing the suspicions of Gerhard, who could get me in big trouble if he thought I was seducing Delilah; or, on the other hand, in arousing the suspicions of Jasmine, who could get me in equally big trouble if she thought I wasn’t seducing her.

As for me, I remained stuck in the middle, unable to move in one direction or the other. Every minute I spent with Delilah made me feel more alive, more blissfully fulfilled than anything else I had ever known. I couldn’t bear to leave her, and the thought of using my powers to change her was even worse.

As spring arrived and gradually gave way to summer, Delilah blossomed. Our long months of lessons had given her new confidence in the social arena, while our torrid love affair had made her believe in the beauty and grace that I saw in her. She became the darling of the Metamor peerage, touring the dinner parties and charity events, making friends and allies among the very people who had spurned her just a few months before. She even took a political stance, after a fashion, by joining the fight against global poverty, sponsoring the construction of an orphanage in the war-torn nation of Hevagn.

Everywhere Delilah went, she left people feeling a little lighter in spirit, a little more optimistic about the future. I took her to symphonies and art galleries and fine restaurants, ostensibly using the Hedonist principle to engage all of the senses – but more often than not, Delilah’s pure joy in these experiences made me appreciate them more. She didn’t just take in the music or the art, or the food, and enjoy it for herself; she invited me to share in the experience, caring more about the connection between us than about the things themselves.

That was the most extraordinary thing about Delilah’s transformation: no matter what she did, she seemed to look to others before herself, to find her pleasure in their pleasure. When I first met her, she had longed for someone to acknowledge her, to accept her. Once I gave her that acceptance, she became a dynamo of selflessness; the more she gave, the more it seemed to fill her. It was almost the polar opposite of the hunger that drove me as an incubus, and the longer I stayed near her, the more deliciously ensnared I became.

I wasn’t the only one affected, either. Following Jasmine’s instructions, Ysabel did her best to seduce Delilah, and indeed it didn’t take long before Delilah invited her to share her bed. But where Jasmine had expected Delilah to use her servant as a plaything, a way of selfishly sating her own desires, Delilah embraced Ysabel as a lover. She lavished on the younger woman all the same care, attention and affection that she had given to me, no longer treating her as a servant but as an equal. Ysabel made a few half-hearted attempts to convince Delilah to come with her to the Hedonist temple, but I think she recognized the same thing I had: the temple orgies were hollow and meaningless compared to the love that Delilah gave so willingly. By June Ysabel had stopped coming to temple entirely, using that time instead to be with me and Delilah.

In the midst of all this, I had almost forgotten about Gerhard. The old butler praised Delilah’s new efforts at charity work. He was conveniently absent whenever we needed time to be together. He was clueless about Delilah’s new relationship with Ysabel, or had at least turned a blind eye to it in the name of decorum. He hadn’t even glowered at me in months. After Vincent gave his approval for me and Delilah to be seen together, I got a little complacent, convinced that Gerhard would swallow his misgivings in obedience to his master.

I really should have known better. When an asimaar is speaking out about his feelings, at least you know where you stand with him. When he gets quiet, that’s when you have to worry.


It was a beautiful Wednesday afternoon in early July when I came to the penthouse and found it strangely quiet. The guards at the front desk had waved me through right away, but no one greeted me as I stepped out of the lift. I was expecting a warmer reception – the baron was in Salinon for the next week for a business conference, and Gerhard had asked for the time off to visit his relatives in Brekkland. Delilah, Ysabel and I were supposed to have the next five days and nights together, with no sneaking around required. We’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

“Delilah?” I called, looking around. “Ysabel?”

No response. Well, maybe they were in the master suite and couldn’t hear me. I headed in that direction, ears attuned for the sound of two women sharing each other’s bodies.

They weren’t in the master suite – nor were they in the exercise room, nor in Ysabel’s quarters.

“What in the nine hells is going on here?” I muttered. I headed back to the entry hall, raising my voice again. “Delilah?”

“Ze mistress is not here, Mr Vance.” The voice came from the empty room in front of me. “She had a most urgent summons to ze other end of town.” It was somewhere close — there, in front of the fireplace…

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered.

The veil dropped, and I saw Gerhard standing there with a 10-millimeter pistol in his hand. Beside him sat Ysabel, gagged and bound to a kitchen chair. I’d walked right past them and I hadn’t heard, seen or smelled anything.

“That’s a pretty good illusion there, Gerhard,” I said, spreading my hands in front of me to show that I wasn’t going to try anything stupid … er. Meanwhile, I started calling up my aura, as slowly as possible. If I could keep him talking long enough, I might be able to scrape together enough magic to get out of here alive. “Does the baron know you’re packing that kind of wizardry?”

“Of course he does,” Gerhard spat. “You sink he has kept me all zese years just to consult him on vines and fashions?” He pointed the gun at my chest. “I am his chief of zecurity, Mr Vance – and you have made zis place very insecure.”

Ysabel struggled and tried to yell something at Gerhard through the sock in her mouth.

“Ysabel seems to disagree with you, Gerhard,” I observed.

The asimaar sneered, his blue eyes glowing. “Ja. You have done a most thorough job of brainvashing her. Did you sink I vas an idiot? Zat I vould not notice zat my mistress und her servant had sunk to zis … perversion?” He stepped a few paces closer, his eyes cold and his aim steady. “Did you sink I vould not realize you vere responsible … incubus?”

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “In the interest of fairness,” I said, my voice quavering a little, “I should point out that Lady Moraine has not joined the Church of Hedonism … nor have I made any attempt to persuade her to do so.” I let out a nervous chuckle. “Actually, I think she’s had more influence on me than I’ve had on her. I’ve been having … second thoughts about my choice of profession…”

“SILENCE!” Gerhard’s finger tightened around the trigger. I shut up.

“You are trying to appeal to my instincts,” he said in disgust. “Zat part of me zat says everyone can change, everyone deserves a zecond chance.” His eyes narrowed. “But zat is a lie. Your kind do not deserve zecond chances. You are a demon, through and through. Do not ask me to believe in your better nature. You do not have one.”

A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. I was running out of time here, and fast. I ran a quick estimate of how much power I would need to make my escape. Just a few more seconds…

“You may be right,” I admitted. He didn’t immediately scream for “silence” again, so I kept talking. “I’ve been living close to Delilah for the last six months, trying to figure out how she does what she does. How she can keep giving, and giving, and somehow she ends up with more than when she started.” I shrugged weakly. “And I don’t get it. Everything in me tells me to take, take, take, to grab what I can get for myself and enjoy it for as long as it lasts. And maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s just my nature, and nothing I do can change that.” I smiled sadly. “But as long as she would let me be near her, I knew I had to try … because she made me aware of an emptiness inside me that I never knew was there.” I turned my palms upward, in a supplicating gesture. “Can you blame me for that? Can you blame me for trying to be more human?”

A soft chime sounded from the lift. Gerhard smiled tightly. “No, Mr Vance. I do not blame you for vhat you are … any more zan I blame a mosquito, or a tapeworm, or a louse.” The lift doors opened and half a dozen men and women stepped out, clad in glistening white combat fatigues. “You cannot blame a parasite for its nature, Mr Vance. You can only destroy it before it has ze chance to breed.”

My eyes fell on the soldiers and the twin cross on their uniforms. Damn it, Gerhard had been stalling me! There was no more time to think; I tapped into the power I’d gathered and called forth a cloud of darkness, hiding myself from view as I tried to make a break for it. I headed for the kitchen – there were windows there. I could grow out my wings and fly away—

A shaft of brilliant blue light cut through my shadow spell, throwing the room into harsh relief. Two shots rang out, fire stabbed through my right leg, and I fell to the floor, unable to stand.

Rough hands grabbed me and turned me over. One of the soldiers, a tall man with pale hair and burning blue eyes, strode toward me with a longsword in his hand. The blade was giving off the light that burned through my darkness, and it hummed with malevolence as he brought it closer to me. Elven sigils burned red in the blood channels of the serpentine blade. I could feel the cold, hungry aura of the sword, could almost hear it calling for my blood. The metal itself made me feel ill, just from being close to it.

Mithril. Holy shit, this was that sword. Elemacil, the Starsword. The Demon Slayer. Which meant that this was—

“Janus!” Gerhard said. “So glad you could make it. I vas afraid you might be too late.”

“Not to worry, Uncle,” Janus said, keeping his eyes fixed on me. “We just took a few minutes to secure the perimeter. I wouldn’t have wanted him escaping out the back.”

Well, shit. So much for my brilliant plan. It was a little late to come up with anything else, though, given the excruciating pain shooting through my leg.

Janus gestured and muttered something in Old Tongue. My darkness spell vanished, and the sword settled down into a softer glow.

“Ve don’t have much time,” Gerhard said, his tone low and urgent. “Ze neighbors are going to notice. If ze reporters find out zat zere vas an incubus here, it vill destroy ze reputations of both my master und my mistress.”

Janus grimaced. “I’m not sure that we can keep this under wraps, Uncle. We have to admit that he’s a daedra, or we don’t have any jurisdiction to take him. It isn’t going to take long for people to figure out what sort of daedra he is.”

Gerhard came forward and put a hand on Janus’s elbow. “Vhat if … zere vas nothing vhen you came here?” He looked down at me, his eyes strangely distant. It was creepy as hell. “Vhat if he had just … disappeared?”

Janus looked at me speculatively. “Banishing a daedra as strong as this one is going to take more time than we have. He’ll heal from that bullet wound before I’m even finished setting the circle. He could resist me for hours before I push him through.”

Gerhard glanced down significantly at the sword. “And vhat if he has a more … significant injury?”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute!” I gasped. “You cut me with that thing and – agh – throw me into the Dreamlands … and i-it’s gonna be like b-blood in the water. There are things there – things that – agh, fuck!” I groaned as fresh pain stabbed through me.
“Damn it, I’d be eaten alive!”

“Perhaps,” Janus admitted, though it didn’t sound like the idea bothered him all that much. “Perhaps not. Your side might find you first, after all. In any case, the Dreamlands are outside our jurisdiction. What happens to you there is no concern of mine.”

“You b-bastard,” I hissed.

Janus raised an eyebrow. “An ironic choice of words, given your own parentage.”

“S-so this is what p-passes – agh – for Lothanasi j-justice? Summary egh – execution, for something I d-didn’t even do?”

“You deny having an affair with the baron’s wife, and encouraging her servant to do the same?”

If I’d been able, I would have laughed. “No, you f-fucking stooge. Of c-course I did. But I d-didn’t brainwash ‘em, an’ I d-didn’t get them p-pregnant!”

The Lightbringer smiled sardonically. “Ah. And that makes it all right, does it?”

“M-makes it no worse’n most of the n-nobles in this city. An’ a lot better’n some.” I pointed a shaking finger at him. “Y-you gonna start killin’ them when they don’t live up t’your f-fucking moral s-standards?”

A shadow passed over Janus’s face. He lowered his sword slightly. “I will admit that your case is … borderline,” he said. “Under other circumstances, I might be persuaded to overlook it. But do not confuse my capacity for mercy with my obligation to justice.”

Behind Janus and Gerhard the lift chimed softly again. They didn’t seem to notice.

Janus shook his head. “Lady Moraine is doing too much good in the world for me to stand by and let a scandal like this destroy her. Whatever her indiscretions, I will not be party to her downfall because I spared the life of one daedra.”

The lift doors opened and my lady, my blessed, beautiful lady, stepped into the room with her eyes blazing. Literally.

“Unhand that man!” she commanded, pointing at me.

Gerhard gaped in astonishment. Janus only paused a moment to compose his features before turning halfway toward Delilah. “Lady Moraine, please stay back,” he said. “This creature is a dangerous—”

“I said RELEASE HIM!”

Several things happened at once. Brilliant light shot out from Delilah in all directions, filling the room with the intensity of a flash bulb. The men holding me let go and stumbled backward, shielding their eyes. The bonds that held Ysabel fell to the floor on their own. Gerhard fell to one knee as his legs suddenly gave way, the gun falling from limp fingers. The only person who seemed unaffected by the display was Janus, who stood up straight and calmly let the light wash over him. The aura around the sword turned crimson in response to the power coming off of her.

As for me, I felt that aura wrap around me, protecting me, filling me with strength. I knew, instinctively, that her power would shield me from harm as long as I didn’t try to harm anyone else – a Sanctuary spell. Powerful stuff. I looked past her and saw the same spell protecting Ysabel.

It should have hurt my eyes to look at Delilah, but it didn't. She was glorious. The beauty she'd always had now became something transcendent, a flawless vision of perfection that glowed with the light from inside her. And while I might have been hallucinating from the pain, I could have sworn that I could see a glowing pair of beautiful, feathery wings.

Delilah herself seemed as surprised as the rest of us. She blinked, shaking herself, then stared at her hands in wonder. The light faded slowly, lingering around her body in a shimmering aura. After a moment she looked back up and set her jaw in determination. She strode past Janus, who made no move to stop her, and came up to me. She looked down at my injured leg and winced in sympathy. "Can you heal it?" she asked.

"—Eventually," I managed, struggling to remember how to speak. "I'm … running low at the moment, though."

She smiled. "Let me help you with that," she said, then took my head in her hands and kissed me. Her passion gave me access to draw on her life force, and my body took what it needed in order to heal itself. She had more than enough to spare. The pain in my leg lessened, then ceased.

As we parted, she placed a hand tenderly against my chest, as if to say, Let me handle this. I was more than happy to let her.

She turned to face Janus, who had watched the whole thing with a calm, neutral expression. The guy had a hell of a poker face, I had to give him that.

"Agent Starson, this man is under my protection. Take your people and go."

Janus bowed his head in a show of respect, but he didn't back down. "Lady Moraine, this man is an incubus working for the cult of Suspira."

"Of course he is," Delilah said.

Janus opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, suddenly thrown off his script. Both Ysabel and I stared at our lady, wide-eyed. Even when Ysabel had converted, we'd always maintained the pretense that I was a human member of the church. Delilah had known?

"Do you take me for a fool, Agent Starson?" she asked. "I have known what John is for months now."

He raised an eyebrow. "And yet you continued to employ him. Forgive me, Baroness, but are you certain that your opinions on this matter are your own?"

She laughed derisively, waving a hand at the field of protective magic that still surrounded me. "Do you honestly believe that he could bewitch me?"

He frowned at me thoughtfully. "Perhaps not," he admitted. His eyes shifted back to her. "Why continue to employ him, if you knew the liability he represented?"

Delilah shrugged and spread her hands. "Because he is greatly knowledgeable about many things I needed to know. Because I hoped to learn how to make my husband desire me. Because he is a clever and charming man whose company I enjoy." She put her hands on her hips. "And because he was the first man in many years to value me as a woman, and not for my name."

Janus locked eyes with her for a moment longer, then slid his sword back into its sheath. "Don’t take his words and actions at face value, Baroness. Even if you yourself are immune to his manipulations, he will use your connections to serve his own interests. Selfishness is at the core of his nature; he can't be anything else."

"Perhaps," Delilah agreed. "Perhaps not. There are many who would say the same is true of humans. But what does it matter? I love him." She ran her hand fondly through my hair. "If I give, and he receives, and both of us are fulfilled by it, then perhaps that is enough."

Gerhard made a choking sound. He kept his eyes on the floor, but he reached out to Delilah in supplication. “Mistress, please! My poor master … he vill be humiliated…”

“I will not forget my lord husband, Gerhard,” Delilah said, her irritation obvious. “But every moment your nephew and his warriors remain here, the baron’s reputation remains in jeopardy. Agent Starson, I must ask you to leave immediately. Do not make me charge you with trespassing.”

Janus frowned, but he bowed anyway. “As you wish, Baroness.” He gestured to his troops. As they filed into the lift car, his eyes fell on me. “Do not abuse the lady’s hospitality, daedra – or you’ll wish I had banished you. We’ll be watching.” He touched Gerhard briefly on the shoulder, then turned and left.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Ysabel rushed up and embraced Delilah, clutching at her and sobbing. “Mistress … oh, Madame…”

Delilah shushed her, kissing her forehead and holding her close. I rose carefully to my feet and snatched up Gerhard’s gun.

“Let’s not give him the chance to get any more bright ideas,” I said. The gun was too large to sit comfortably at the small of my back, so I put it on a shelf as far from Gerhard as possible.

Delilah turned to face the butler, her expression stern. “Pack your things, Gerhard.”

He looked up in shock, his tear-streaked face a mask of horror. “Mistress, I am ze baron’s sworn servant! You cannot fire me without his saying so…”

“Do not tempt me,” she snapped. “You have lied to me, hurt John and Ysabel, endangered all of us because of your obsession.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “And yet, you have done all of this because you believed you were protecting your master. I cannot fault your loyalty – but I cannot trust you here, either.” She gestured curtly for him to rise. “I am sending you to my villa in Tourne. It has fallen into some disrepair and the staff needs a good administrator. I am certain you will have everything running smoothly by the time we come down for the winter.”

He bowed his head and nodded. “A-as my mistress commands.” He headed for his room in the servants’ wing.

“Gerhard?” Delilah called after him.

He stopped and looked back. “Ja, mistress?”

She gazed at him levelly. “Go behind my back again, for any reason, and my lord husband will find out that you have taken part in certain … financial indiscretions with our accounts.”

The man sputtered indignantly. “Mistress, I have done no zuch thing!”

A slow, wolfish smile spread across her face. “Are you quite sure about that?”

Gerhard’s cheeks lost what little color they had. He turned and almost ran out of the room.


While the butler packed, Delilah, Ysabel and I went to the master suite, where Ysabel poured drinks to help settle our nerves. We sat on the bed together with drinks in hand, Ysabel on Delilah’s right and I on her left.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” I asked Delilah. “Gerhard said that you were called away on an urgent matter of some kind.”

Delilah smiled dryly. “I have been expecting trouble from Gerhard for some time now. When he called the Lothanasi, one of my men at the security desk warned me, and I came back right away.” She grimaced. “I was almost too late. I am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, patting her leg. “I’m here, and I’m alive. That’s good enough for me.”

“Madame?” Ysabel asked, her voice soft and uncertain. “When you came to rescue us … what was zat light around you?” She looked down at the marks on her wrists where Gerhard had bound her. “Ze ropes … zey…” She shook her head in wonder.

“I don’t know,” Delilah admitted, though she looked utterly at peace about it. “There are stories about my family, but I have never known how much to believe them. Does it really matter? I am still the same person I was before.”

“That’s true,” I said quietly. “But somehow, I can’t help feeling you’re more of that person than you used to be.” I reached up and caressed her cheek. “Don’t be afraid to explore it — ‘Be that which thou art.’” It was an old Universalist proverb, and she smiled, obviously recognizing the reference.

“And what about you, John?” she asked. “An incubus who risked everything for love? Is that ‘being what thou art’?”

I chuckled ruefully. “Maybe not. But I helped you get closer to your true nature, and it’s helped a lot people as a result. If that costs me another turn on the cosmic merry-go-round, I’m okay with that.” I winked. “I can always get back to being a self-serving bastard in my next incarnation.”

We all laughed at that. The laughter turned to foreplay, and foreplay turned to urgent caresses and the shedding of clothes.

“Do me one favor, John,” Delilah said, as she slipped my shirt off of my shoulders.

“Name it,” I said.

She reached down and touched my fertility control amulet. “Take this off.”

I drew back and stared at her. I finally managed to ask, “Why?”

A bittersweet smile touched her lips. “When this week is over, you will have to leave us. Your temple will not let you stay here, now that the Lightbringers have taken an interest. Janus would keep watching until he found a reason to banish you, or until the truth came out and destroyed all of us.” She traced a hand over her belly. “You were sent here to give me a child. So do it. You will go home successful … and I will have someone to remember you by.”

Ysabel came up beside her and put a hand on my arm. “And so will I,” she said.

I blinked back tears, scarcely believing what I was hearing. I’d never heard of a woman consciously choosing to be impregnated by an incubus unless she was already a disciple of Hedonism. The idea that they would want to bear my children out of love for me…

“I … um … w-what about Vincent?” I asked. “If you two both get pregnant…”

They shared a knowing grin. “Don’t worry about Vincent,” Delilah said. “You remember when you told me that some people are just asexual? Well, I have a wizard who has been working on that problem.”

Ysabel leaned her head on Delilah’s shoulder and fondled one of her breasts. “When ze master returns, I will put ze potion in his drink. He will finally be able to feel passion!”

“At which point,” Delilah said, “Ysabel and I will help him to understand what he has been missing while he wasted his life on politics.”


Well. What could I say to a proposition like that? They offered me the chance to satisfy my most primal instinct, and did it in a way that would cover all our asses. I couldn’t understand the kind of love that motivated Delilah, but I don’t think you have to understand love to be able to accept it.

As for Ysabel, maybe she did it for love, or maybe she just did it to get closer to her true nature – she might have stopped going to church, but I think she still believed in the Hedonist message. Either way, we were glad to have her there.

So I gave them what they asked for. And now, here I was, five days later, holding Delilah in my arms on our last night together. Tomorrow I would go back to the temple, where Jasmine would congratulate me on a job well done. Maybe she’d have a new assignment picked out for me, or maybe I’d get some time off. Before long I’d be back to the old game – seduction and infiltration, planting my little cuckoos in a hundred nests, doing my part to spread the word of Suspira.

But this one was going to stay with me. Oh, yes. For the first time, and maybe the last, I’d been touched by the hand of true love.

And let me tell you: the bitch knows how to leave a mark.


In the months that followed I did some digging into House Velasco’s family tree, just for my own personal edification. It turns out that, in the year before Delilah was reportedly born, the Duke of Tournemire spent a lot of time out at his country villa. Somewhere in there he got married; the woman was a good, proper Tournish lady, but the engagement was surprisingly short. There were rumors that Delilah was born out of wedlock, and that he married his wife to try to cover up the fact that his firstborn was a bastard.

The funny thing is, there are no records of the Duke’s wife getting pregnant that year. No doctor visits, no hospitals, and no one who admits to being present at the birth. One day they just came back from the villa, and brought the baby with them.

Now, maybe it's nothing but the usual shenanigans that nobles get up to everywhere. But before she married the Duke, his wife was a longtime member of the Hope Foundation – and as it happens, another member of the Hope Foundation was on sabbatical in Tourne that year: the CEO. Lady Velena, the goddess of love and beauty. Suspira’s opposite number in the pantheon.

It’s kind of funny, really. Between me and Delilah, I always thought I was the cuckoo. Who could have guessed that she was, too?

It’s been about nine months now since we said good-bye. I just checked my email and found a message from an address I don’t recognize. Inside are photos of two beautiful women, each with a baby in her arms. The kids are both adorable – one with dark, wavy hair around her angelic face, the other with wispy blonde curls and a look like he’s planning some mischief. There’s no text in the message except the captions: Jeanette Ysabel Moraine, and Jonathan Vincent Depardieu.

I wipe away tears, my heart swelling with pride.

They both have their father’s eyes.

FIN

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