HELL’S BELLE

Luci put her glasses back on. “You were saying?”

“Uh,” Jennie responded. “Ooooh.” Her face was a mask of bliss.

The other woman smiled. She knew that look, and loved it. It was the look of total submission. The bank clerk was lost in her own private world now. Her only connection to ordinary reality was Luci’s voice, Lilibat’s voice, which would tell her what to do and think.

The she-demon was well satisfied. She couldn’t very well have come into the bank as her hellish self, horns, hooves, red skin and all–but her human form had the same seductive powers.

Of course, those powers had their limitations. She could command men to do absolutely anything, but with women, she had to avoid orders which went against their basic moral code. Overconfidence in this regard had played a role in her defeat last time, when she had pushed the magician Dr. Fatakis’ aide Rita Hawkins too far.

“What were you saying?” Luci prompted again.

“Um,” Jennie mumbled. Then, collecting herself, she answered, “Uh, I was saying that . . . that we can’t just give you money to open an account.” Her voice was soft and hesitant, as if she were having trouble putting words together. “I can’t do that.”

“That’s all right,” Luci said. “Perhaps I could speak to the branch manager?”

“Speak to . . . the branch manager.” Jennie smiled. “Of course. I’ll call him right away.”

She picked up the phone on her desk, punched in a number, and, after a few seconds, spoke. “Mr. Hardesty? There’s a woman here at customer service who needs to speak with you a moment. Can you please come out?” Another few seconds passed. “Thank you, sir.”

Jennie looked up. “He’ll be right out, Ms. Ferra.” The stunned look was fading from her features, but Luci knew she could put the other woman under again instantly any time she wanted.

A middle-aged man in a neat gray suit approached the desk.

“Oh, Mr. Hardesty,” Jennie said. “This is Ms. Luci Ferra. She wants to open an account with us, but there’s–well–a problem.”

Luci stood up, facing Hardesty. She noted smugly that the bank official was obviously aroused by her; a visible erection tented the front of his trousers, and he was sweating as he greeted her: “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Ferra. What seems to be the trouble?”

Jennie started to explain, but Hardesty shushed her with a wave. “Now, Miss Morgan, let Ms. Ferra speak for herself.”

Luci tipped up her sunglasses with one hand and looked into Mr. Hardesty’s eyes. “Perhaps we should talk this over in private, Mr. Hardesty? In your office?”

“We should talk this over in private,” Hardesty agreed. “In my office.”

Hardesty turned and walked away. As she prepared to follow him, Luci shot one last glance back at Jennie and decreed, “Everything’s fine, Jennie. Don’t give it another thought.”

“Ev . . . everything’s fine,” Jennie murmured, floating again in the beautiful place Luci’s eyes made for her. Later, when she returned to reality, she didn’t give the matter another thought.

“Now,” Peter Hardesty said as he settled into the comfortable chair behind his big executive desk, “what seems to be the matter? I should think opening a bank account would be easy enough; just fill out the forms and deposit the funds.”

“But that’s just it, sir,” Luci cooed. “I don’t have any funds to deposit.” She could hardly draw on Susan Jones’s old accounts. Five years had passed since her banishment and the death of Dr. Jones’s mortal frame; the money accounts would have been declared inactive, and since Susan had died without a will, her bank would have gotten the money. “I was hoping your bank could give me some–starter funds, you might say.” She smiled at him. “Think of it as a good-will gesture.”

“Now see here, young lady.” Hardesty was no longer relaxed. He half rose out of his chair, leaning forward aggressively with this hands braced atop his desk. “I don’t know what you were imagining, but we here at First Union are a business, not a charity! I’ve half a mind to have you arrested!”

“No,” Luci said calmly, removing her sunglasses and dangling them idly from one hand as she lounged in her chair. “You see here, Mr. Hardesty.”

She looked into his eyes, and he was done. He was no longer conscious of the expensively furnished room he and Luci occupied; he was aware only of her eyes, and her voice. Her words were his only thoughts.

“Sit down, Mr. Hardesty,” she directed. He obeyed, smiling vacantly.

Luci set her sunglasses down on the desktop and leaned across, eyes locked on Hardesty’s. “What’s your first name, Mr. Hardesty?”

“Peter,” he responded automatically.

“Peter,” Luci repeated. “A nice name. You don’t mind if I call you Peter, do you? Of course you don’t.”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Now Peter,” she chided him, “you said you had half a mind to have me arrested. You didn’t mean that, did you?”

“Didn’t . . . mean that.”

“In fact, you don’t have half a mind to do anything. You don’t have a mind at all, do you?”

Peter sighed. “Don’t have a mind at all.”

“When you look into my eyes, your only thoughts are those I give you,” Luci instructed. “And when you’re not looking into my eyes, you will do as I told you to do when you were looking into my eyes. You will do it without question. Isn’t that right, Peter?”

“Yes,” whispered Peter. “That’s right.”

“Now Peter,” she asked carefully, “is there any way you can give me the money I want? It’s very important, Peter, and I know you want to do anything you can to help me.”

The bank manager was silent briefly. Then he said, “Yes. I know a man, in our systems department. He can arrange, for electronic transfers to an, account created for you.”

“Tell me about this man, Peter.”

“His name is Aaron Lieber,” Hardesty told Luci. “He’s in charge of . . . system security. All access codes and, account numbers. Stuff like that. He watches out for hackers. He knows all, their tricks. He could do it.” Hesitantly: “But he wouldn’t. He’s, too honest.”

Luci laughed softly. “You let me worry about that, Peter.” This Aaron Lieber would be no more of a problem than Hardesty had been.

She looked over her newest slave. She liked what she saw. Peter Hardesty appeared to be in his late forties, to judge by his iron-gray hair and the crow’s feet at his eyes, but the tailored suit he wore fit him in a way which suggested a muscular build beneath.

Perhaps before going to see Hardesty’s computer guy, she could have some fun. Yes.

“You want me, don’t you, Peter?” Luci asked, focusing on the banker, drawing him deeper into her eyes. “You’re so turned on by me that you can’t help yourself. You need to have sex with me, you have to have it! You have to have it now! You don’t even care whether I want it. You have to take me NOW!”

With a bestial roar, Peter Hardesty threw himself across his desk at Luci, seizing her and dragging her onto the thick carpet below. There was only one thought in his mind: he was going to take this woman NOW!

Pinned beneath the banker’s bulk, Luci spoke. “Stop, Peter. Stop, and listen carefully.”

Peter instantly stopped. Frozen in place, he listened carefully.

“I’m in charge, Peter.” Luci held Peter’s eyes with her own and reached up to frame his face with her palms. “You can do only what I say. That’s true, isn’t it? Say, ‘Yes, Mistress Luci,’ if it’s true.”

“Yes, Mistress Luci,” Hardesty responded tamely. “You’re in charge. I can do . . . only what you say.”

“From now on,” Luci commanded, “the words ‘Mistress Luci’ will tell you to obey. When you hear me say those words, even if you are not looking into my eyes, you will obey without thought or question until I release you. Do you understand, and will you obey? Say ‘Yes, Mistress Luci’ if you understand and will obey.”

“Yes, Mistress Luci.”

“And when we are alone,” the temptress added, “you will always call me Mistress Luci. You will find it strongly arousing to do so. But you will call me that only when we are alone. Do you understand, and will you obey?”

“Yes, Mistress Luci.”

The disguised she-demon looked up at the helpless mortal locked motionless over her. He had accepted her trigger suggestion completely. Now she would be able to command him even over the phone, when she couldn’t make eye contact.

Satisfied, she addressed him again. “Now let’s get out of these clothes, shall we? I know you want to have me”–Peter moaned, and Luci giggled at the sound–“and they’ll only get in the way.”

Hardesty released Luci in order to tear at his clothing, peeling it away as quickly as he could manage. Luci stripped as well, less desperately. As she did, she smirked. Not only had she made him her sexual puppet, she was drawing him into embezzlement. It was just too bad that by the rules Asmodiel had laid down at the very beginning, what he did under her power would not condemn his soul. Only actions undertaken with free will could do that, and right now, he didn’t have that; he wouldn’t even know what it was.

Ah, well, she consoled herself, perhaps I’ll have better luck with the programmer.

Finally undressed, the two of them moved together. Peter plunged into her, bucking and gasping. Her power controlled him, keeping him going until–yes! This was the moment! YES! Fireworks exploded behind her eyes and her body thrashed in pleasure along with Hardesty’s.

Afterward, they lay dreamily on the soft rug for a little while. At last, smiling, Luci sat up, looked over at her latest conquest and said, “Peter honey?”

Her words woke him from a pleasant doze. “Yes, Mistress Luci?” The programmed response came out as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“We need to get dressed now,” Luci decreed. “We need to get dressed and see this Mr. Lieber of yours. Unless he’s not available?”

Sitting up himself, Hardesty looked at the clock on one wall. “No,” he informed her. “He should be here. He usually works until at least six-thirty.”

“Good,” Luci said approvingly. She began to dress herself.

It was nearly eight o’clock when Luci returned to Frank Willis’ dorm room on the campus of Freedom Christian University.

Her introduction to Aaron Lieber had gone well, despite a bad moment involving a Star of David ornament he wore. Her newfound sensitivity to religious items was apparently not limited to those of the Christian faith. One suggestion from her, however, after he’d looked into her eyes, had been enough to make him put the thing away where it couldn’t hurt her.

Lieber was actually cute, slender, medium build, with curly black hair–not the stereotypical computer nerd at all. He didn’t even wear glasses. She had enjoyed taking him, and it had amused her to have sex with him while Peter Hardesty watched, commanded into silent immobility. After, she had explained what she needed, then watched as the programmer went into the bank’s carefully protected systems and set up the account she wanted. He had fixed things so a nice lump sum of twenty thousand dollars was diverted into that account, then added a gimmick which would add in some trifling amount from each transaction the bank carried out. Over time, he had explained, this invisible siphon would provide her with a great deal of money.

When he’d finished, she had left with Hardesty. As they walked out, she had instructed the bank manager, “No one must know about this arrangement, Peter. You will do anything you have to do to keep it secret. Everything must appear perfectly legitimate.”

Of course Hardesty had agreed.

All in all, she’d been quite satisfied.

Frank was waiting for her, sitting in the heavy captain’s chair in front of the desk which took up one corner of his dorm room.

“Good news, Frank honey,” she informed him cheerfully. “I’ve arranged it so I have money now. That means I won’t have to stay here much longer.”

“You . . . you won’t?” Frank sounded almost afraid. “You’re going . . . away? But what–what about me?”

“Oh, Frank honey,” Luci answered. “You want what I want, don’t you? Of course you do.”

“Of–of course . . . I do,” Frank repeated. Luci had conditioned him to respond to that phrase; he’d agree now with anything she said, do anything she wanted, whenever she said the words. As with Hardesty and her victims before her banishment, she’d found it helpful to install such a trigger.

“Then you want me to have a place of my own, don’t you,” the succubus suggested. “Of course you do.”

Frank agreed helplessly and squirmed in his chair. A bulge appeared in his trousers and grew amazingly.

“Then let’s hear no more about it,” she ordered. “Don’t worry, Frank honey. You’ll still get to see me–both of me!” With her last words, she shifted into her demon shape.

Frank squealed wordlessly in delight and squirmed where he sat.

Lilibat gloated. She had questioned Frank carefully under trance after going home with him the night of her summoning, and had learned that one of his secret turn-ons was a sexy cartoon devil-girl very like herself, complete with horns, red skin and tail. He wanted to be controlled by her, used by her, while she looked like this.

“You’ll help me pick out a place tomorrow, won’t you, Frank?” Lilibat coiled her tail around one thigh as she spoke, and Frank squealed again. He shuddered, and a small wet spot appeared at the front of his pants.

He panted, “Yes. Please. Help you, pick out a place. Please let me, help. Oh, help, please.” He looked up at her, begging. “Please.”

She gave him what he wanted. She undressed him right in his chair, taking her time about it while he shivered and moaned in pleasure. Then, when she was done, she led the helplessly hypnotized and wildly aroused young man over to his bed, eased him down onto it and settled down atop him. His body rammed against her, driving into her, and she rode him to climax while he babbled incoherently.

Once he’d spent himself, Frank dropped limply back onto the sheets and was asleep almost immediately. Lilibat eased herself off him and sat for awhile in his big chair, arms draped over its armrests and legs neatly crossed. As a demon, she’d found she needed very little sleep.

Gazing across at her mortal summoner, who was now her puppet, Lilibat smirked. She didn’t require Frank’s aid to find a place to live. It appealed to her, though, to let him plead to serve her. After all, he’d called her from Hell to be his servant; too bad for him he’d been careless enough to let her turn the tables.

Abruptly, she became aware of a new presence in the darkened room. A familiar presence.

“Asmodiel?” she asked. “My Dark Lord?”

“Yes, it is I,” the presence confirmed. “You needn’t worry that I’ll wake your mortal plaything. Even if you hadn’t quite thoroughly worn him out,” and the presence smiled an evil smile which was the only thing even Lilibat could see of it in the shadows except for two glowing eyes, “and even if he were not now quite thoroughly under your power, he could not perceive me. After all, I’m not here physically as you are.”

Lilibat nodded. She remembered how her demon mentor had manifested himself to her alone on a few occasions before her exile from Earth. “Why have you contacted me?”

“I have been watching you,” the other explained. “I’m quite pleased with the beginning you have made since your return to the mortal realm, even though you have not yet sent Down any fresh souls.”

Lilibat started to protest. Asmodiel interrupted her. “No, my dear, that was not a criticism. You needn’t rush. I wish only to caution you against overconfidence. As you recall,” and the deep voice turned stern, “that was how you were defeated before.”

Reluctantly, the succubus nodded again.

“I remind you,” the demon lord continued, “because I can guess at some of what you mean to do. You intend to face Dr. Fatakis and his aide once more, and destroy them.”

“Yes, milord Asmodiel.” Lilibat bared her teeth.

“Then take care,” the other warned. “Recall that because of your mistakes last time, Rita Hawkins is now immune to your powers. If you wish to subjugate her, you will need to find other means.”

The voice fell silent for a moment, then concluded: “A final warning. Our kind’s powers give us great advantages in dealing with mortals, but they also impose weaknesses. In particular, beware one thing: our bargains with mortals are as unbreakable for us as for them.” The eyes blazing from the darkness shifted toward the bed. “A deal is a deal, as the mortals say–even a bad one. Take care!”

“I shall, Dark Lord.” Lilibat wasn’t quite sure what her master and lover meant, but she appreciated the warning.

“See that you do, my dear. See that you do!” And with that, the presence was gone.

Demons are immortal, but do not have the patience to go with an endless existence. Patience, after all, is a virtue. Sitting in the dark waiting for Frank to regain consciousness was profoundly boring to his satanic mistress. Presently, therefore, she began scanning the bookshelves which lined the room, searching for something to read. There were Frank’s textbooks, of course–but of course not! Fortunately he also had an assortment of novels, mostly mysteries. She selected one and began to read.

She was still reading when Frank woke up at six-thirty. When he opened his eyes he saw her, in demon form, lounging in his captain’s chair, cloven-hoofed feet crossed on his desk to one side of his computer and tail draped over one armrest. When she heard him stirring, she swung around gracefully, ankles still neatly crossed, and faced him. Her hooves hit the floor with a soft thump.

“I hope you slept well,” she said. (Actually, she was sure he had. She’d leaned over and whispered a command for him to do so just as his eyes were closing after sex the night before. Of course he would have obeyed.)

“Yes, I did,” he answered. He sat up and stretched, then rolled over and thumped his feet onto the floor.

“Then after breakfast, let’s go find me an apartment,” she suggested. After a sexy shrug that made Frank breathe faster, she assumed her human guise again.

“That’s amazing,” the youth said. “Even knowing what you are, that’s amazing.”

Luci smiled at him. Frank sounded so normal this morning; no one would guess that his mind was no longer his own.

The two of them dressed quickly and headed out for breakfast. As Luci Ferra, the demoness had all the physical needs of any ordinary human. She was very hungry.

At Luci’s suggestion, they went off campus to eat. The pairing of student Frank Willis with a glamorous mystery woman would attract too much attention if they used the cafeteria. She was not ready for that.

Frank was hungry too, but he watched with admiration as Luci put away a stack of pancakes, several fried eggs, a big slab of Canadian bacon, a tall orange juice and most of a pot of coffee. For him, the scrambled-egg special offered by the diner they’d chosen had been quite enough.

“Wow,” he said. “Don’t they feed you–ah–where you’re from?”

Luci laughed. Gulping another mouthful of food, she answered, “Actually, no, not usually–but we don’t need it. I guess now that I’m”–like Frank, she avoided saying where she’d come from–“back here, and”–she gestured at her body–“like this, I’m making up for lost time.”

When they’d finished, Frank paid the bill and they left. Admiring eyes followed them; more than one of the restaurant’s male patrons wished he were in Frank’s position.

Frank looked up as his demon mistress emerged from the manager’s office. “How did it go?” he asked.

“How do you think?” she answered. “I’ve got the place I wanted.”

Luci looked over at the cubicle where the manager’s secretary sat. “Excuse me, miss,” she said.

“Yes?” The secretary, who had been filing her nails, looked up. As soon as her eyes met Luci’s, she froze like a rabbit in front of a snake.

“What’s your name, dear?” Luci inquired.

“Paula,” came the answer. “Paula Petrosino.”

“Paula, dear, I need to talk to this young man for a few minutes,” Luci told her. “You will ignore us completely, as if we had never been here. You will pay no attention to anything we say or do until I say the words, ‘As you were.'”

The other woman’s eyes went dreamy. Her head bent down and she went back to filing her nails.

“That should do it,” Luci announced. “Now we’re alone, or might as well be. I can tell you the rest of it.”

“The rest?”

“Of course, Frank honey.” She gave him a condescending look. “I picked this place not just for the accommodations but for who else lives here. All sorts of local bigwigs stay here, either full-time or part-time. Living here myself will give me access to them, and soon they’ll serve me just the way you do.”

Frank thought about that, and his eyes widened. “You’re . . . building some sort of power base, aren’t you?”

Lilibat nodded, pleased. “That’s right, Frank honey.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully and went on.

“Unlike more senior demons, I have only limited powers,” she explained. “I can–influence people, of course, once I’ve met them face to face. As you know.” She dimpled. “But that is very nearly it. I can change form, as you’ve seen, between this appearance and”–she switched quickly into her demon shape–“this one.” Frank panted at sight of his fantasy female. Smirking, she changed back. “And when I was mortal, I had another shape as well, one I have not used in years.”

Frank interrupted. “You were mortal? I . . . I don’t understand.”

While the hotel manager’s secretary calmly continued working on her nails, Luci explained, telling her summoner and slave the full story of her origin for the first time and finishing: “After my banishment by that meddling magician, my demon master arranged for references to me to be magically inserted into various texts, appearing as if they had always been present. Then he looked for someone who could be guided to invoke me . . . and that’s where you came in.”

“Then I was–forced to call you up?” Frank’s voice was unsteady.

“No,” Luci answered. “You were already planning to perform a summoning ritual. You were merely guided to my own. After that, it was your free decision to summon me rather than another.” She smiled. “And here I am.” She treated Frank to another quick glimpse of the demon form he found so alluring.

“Ohhhh,” Frank breathed. He struggled to regain focus. “I . . . I understand.”

“But come now, Frank honey,” Luci directed. “It’s time to leave.” Frank nodded.

Turning to Paula Petrosino, who was still robotically filing her nails in her seat outside the manager’s office, the sinister seductress said, “As you were, dear.”

The secretary left off her manicure job and looked up. She blinked. “Excuse me? Did you say something?”

“Nothing important,” responded Luci. “My friend and I are leaving now. I’ve spoken with your boss, and will be moving in.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Paula acknowledged respectfully. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll be happy to.”

“Yes,” Luci said, “I’m sure you will.”

With Frank in tow, she left.

Luci’s moving job was simplified by the fact that she had almost nothing to move. The luxury suite she had obtained was already furnished, and the only clothes she owned were those Frank had bought for her the day after her conjuration. She settled in quickly, familiarizing herself with her new place. Then she set out to assemble a wardrobe, taking Frank with her.

It was a measure of how deeply in her thrall Frank was that he found this shopping expedition exciting. Of course, it helped that Luci modeled her purchases for him, earning the disapproving stares of some store clerks. The offended salespeople made no trouble, though; one glance into Luci’s eyes and they forgot their objections. Frank eagerly paid for everything she bought until he had maxed out every credit card he owned; only after that did Luci begin drawing on her own money.

By the time they’d finished, the sun was setting. A panting Frank Willis drove Luci back to the Stafford Arms and carried her acquisitions up to her suite for her. Under her direction, he unpacked the clothes and put them carefully away.

When he was done, he turned to her and asked eagerly, “Is everything okay?” Looking into her eyes, he pleaded, “Can I do anything else for you?” It was very obvious what he was hoping she’d say; the front of his pants bulged outward aggressively, and his face was flushed.

Laughing and pointing at the evidence of Frank’s arousal, Luci said, “My, you’re a horny boy, aren’t you? You need a horny girl, isn’t that right?”

She changed shape, becoming Lilibat again. Frank’s breathing went fast and shallow, and his mouth fell open. When he tried to speak, all that came out was “Uh. Uh. H-h-horny. . . .”

An hour later, she untangled herself from the youthful slave who had meant to be her master and commanded him to get dressed. As he obeyed, she put her own clothes on–a new set: a red pantsuit with plunging neckline and white slippers. She had to change back to Luci for the suit to fit properly, since it wasn’t cut to accommodate a tail, but that was no problem; she was finished playing with her favorite human toy for now.

When Frank finished dressing, he stood waiting patiently. The sex they’d had seemed to have driven him deeper into trance; his face was utterly tranquil and his arms dangled loosely at his sides as he awaited his mistress’s next instructions. When Luci passed her hand in front of his eyes, there was no reaction.

“Frank, can you hear me?” she asked. He was so far under, she wasn’t sure he could.

“Yes,” he answered. “Hear you.”

“You feel wonderful, don’t you, Frank honey?”

“Yes,” came the response. “Wonderful.” Frank smiled.

“I’m so glad, Frank,” Luci told him. “I need you to do something for me now. You will do it because you feel wonderful.”

“Yes,” agreed Frank.

“I need you to go home now, Frank.” Luci reached up to caress Frank’s face. “I need you to go home and go back to your regular life.” She stroked the sides of her slave’s face rhythmically. “You will go home, go back to your old life and not think about me at all until I contact you. You will not remember summoning me, or what we’ve done together since then, until you hear my voice speaking your name. When you hear that, you will remember everything and you will be ready to obey me without question again. Do you understand, and will you obey?”

Frank was briefly silent, as if his stupefied mind needed a while to process his new instructions. Then he nodded and said, “Yes. Go home. Go back to my . . . regular life and . . . forget summoning you and . . . what we’ve done together . . . until I hear you say . . . my name. When I hear you say my name . . . I will remember everything . . . and I will be ready . . . to obey you without question again.”

“Very good, Frank honey,” Luci cooed. “You may go now.” She waved one slender hand toward the door.

Frank walked out, glassy-eyed and blank-minded. All he knew was that he felt wonderful.

Luci made a point of introducing herself around the apartment complex. Ned Braithwaite and Paula Petrosino were very helpful. After a couple of weeks, she knew everyone.

By then, the money tap her programmer slave at the bank had installed had replenished her bank account. First Union was a big bank, and Aaron Lieber hadn’t limited his program to the single branch where she’d established her account; it was drawing on every transaction made in any branch anywhere. Before long it might be necessary to find ways of concealing the money. If so, she was confident that Lieber could be–persuaded–to help.

It was at the Halloween costume party she arranged for the Stafford’s residents that Luci was reminded of the unfinished business she had left behind her when she’d been sent Below. One of the residents had invited Professor Joseph Hinton, dean of Freedom Christian University, as a guest.

Spotting him, Luci smiled wickedly. Hinton had been a colleague of Susan Jones. After the mysterious demise of her department head Professor Joshua Carstairs, most people had expected him to assume the dead man’s position. Instead, after a little chat with the newly empowered Dr. Jones, Dean Mather had picked her instead. Now here he was in Mather’s place.

She slithered over to him.

Dean Hinton was a short, egg-bald man with thick, round glasses. Behind their lenses, his eyes popped as he saw her. She had chosen to appear as Lilibat, donning only a skimpy flame-orange bikini with a tail-slit as a concession to mortal society. She had already received several compliments on her “devil costume.” But for Hinton, a devout Christian fundamentalist, it was clearly disturbing.

“Well!” he huffed after several seconds of staring. “I understand that festivities like these a certain amount of . . . ribaldry is to be expected. But if I’d known I’d be exposed to evocations of Satan–of Satan and of lust–I’d not have come here.”

The man who’d invited him, a local television executive, intervened. “Now, Professor,” he soothed, “I’m sure Ms. Ferra meant no offense.” He waved around the room. “Look at who’s here. Do you think all these people would have come, if they thought she was the wrong sort of person? Those of us who live here know her, after all.”

Not as well as you think, Luci said to herself, even if better than you know. She had already had several of the men in the room; she’d even allowed most of them to remember it. None of them suspected what she really was.

Hinton nodded reluctantly. “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. Facing Luci, he murmured, “My apologies.”

Gazing steadily into his eyes, Luci responded, “Apology accepted, Professor Hinton.” The Dean’s eyes widened and a slack smile spread across his features.

Looking over at the TV exec, she said, “I’d like to show Professor Hinton around, if I may. You don’t mind, do you?”

The media mogul mumbled, “I don’t mind.” By reflex, he stepped away from Hinton. Luci took the Dean’s arm and steered him away.

She guided him toward the refreshment table she had set up.

“Here,” she said, offering him a fluted glass of punch from which a strong alcoholic odor wafted. “Try some of this.”

Hinton was an absolute teetotaler. His idea of a “hard” beverage was coffee. Under Luci’s influence, however, he gulped the punch down.

“There,” she said. “That was good, wasn’t it? Of course it was. You want more, don’t you?”

“More,” Hinton echoed. Luci refilled his glass.

She spoke to him. “Drink up, Professor. Let yourself go. Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks. It’s a party! Have as much as you want! Drink until you can’t find the punch bowl. No one will mind.”

That ought to do it, Luci thought, smirking. Leaving Hinton to get falling-down drunk as she had commanded, she wove her way through the crowd.

A commotion at one end of her living room attracted her attention. A small crowd had gathered and was calling out encouragements to a buxom redhead who seemed to be standing on something. Someone had started a CD player, which was blaring nightclub music.

Luci headed over and pushed into the pack of people. “What’s going on?”

A tall, good-looking blond man grinned at her. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He jerked a thumb toward the woman who was the center of attention. She was dancing to the music and peeling away her clothes, giggling as she wriggled and stripped. Luci could see now that the woman was standing on an end table, the heels of her polished black pumps clicking on the tabletop as she pranced across it.

“Drunk?” Luci was amused.

“Better than that,” the blond guy answered. Reaching into an inside pocket, he pulled out a glassine envelope filled with small round yellow tablets, each of which was decorated with a cross-eyed smiley face.

“What is that stuff?” As Dr. Susan Jones, she had had nothing to do with drugs, and her time Below had not added to her education in that area.

“They call it Nirvana,” answered the blond. “Or sometimes Cloud Nine. It’s the latest party drug, stronger than Ecstasy.”

The woman on the table was naked now except for her high heels, and had dropped to her knees. Her head lolled. Neatly manicured hands lifted her ample breasts so that whenever she nodded forward they were within reach of her questing tongue, which curled snakily around stiff nipples. The men surrounding her egged her on with lewd suggestions, and she obeyed enthusiastically.

“It’s a hypnotic,” came the explanation. “A really powerful one. When you’re high on Nirvana, you’ll do anything you’re told, anything at all. Obeying commands gives you unbelievable pleasure.”

“Real-ly,” Luci murmured. “Anything at all, you say. Obeying gives you unbelievable pleasure, you say. Is it addictive?”

“Not physically,” the blond replied. “But after only one or two doses, most people crave the pleasure so strongly they’ll do just about anything to get more–no matter what you make them do when they’re under the influence.”

Only by an effort of will was Luci able to keep her eyes from glowing with inhuman delight. “Perfect,” she whispered, and in her mind an image of Rita Hawkins groveled in eager submission. “Perfect.”

Most of the guys present were now intent on the drugged girl. Still kneeling, she had leaned forward to seize one of the onlookers by the back of the head and press his face deep into her breasts. Luci, however, had other plans for her fair-haired friend.

She looked into his eyes and asked, “What’s your name, honey?”

A slightly stunned look on his face, he answered. “Tom. M-my name is Tom Dennis.”

“Well, Tom,” she asked, “why don’t we find someplace a little more private? We have things to discuss.” She reached out with her power, drawing her new prey farther in.

Tom stammered, “I-I-I, uh, s-sure. Find someplace . . . more private. We have . . . things to discuss. Uh.” Half-consciously, he added, “Beautiful. . . .”

“That’s right, Tom,” Luci agreed. “Beautiful. I’m beautiful. My eyes are beautiful. Now come with me, Tom.”

She led him into her bedroom and shut the door.

Their lovemaking, once they’d gotten their inconvenient clothing out of the way, was fiery. Luci discovered that she could bring Tom to utter, ecstatic rigidity, arms, legs and penis all standing stiffly away from his body, by stroking just the right spots on his back with the point of her tail. When she finally let him come, his outpouring was explosive.

Presently, as the two of them lay nude and sweaty amid the tangled sheets on her big bed, Luci spoke. “Tom?” she asked. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” a sleepy male voice answered. “Awake.”

“We need to talk, Tom. Now listen carefully.”

“Need to talk. Listen carefully.” Tom listened, eyes opening as he focused on Luci.

“You’re going to give me the drug, Tom. The Nirvana. You’re going to hand over the tabs you have, because I want them and you want me to have whatever I want. You do want me to have whatever I want, don’t you, Tom sweetie?” Luci fluttered her eyelashes at the big blond sprawled beside her.

“Oh, yes,” Tom sighed. “Whatever you want.”

“Then you’ll hand them over to me, Tom? Just go over and find them in your clothes, take them out and put them on my nightstand. Now, Tom.”

Wordlessly, Tom did as Luci had directed. Afterward, he stood by her bed, waiting for his next instruction.

“Good boy, Tom,” Luci said. “Now tell me, can you get more?”

“Yes,” Tom answered. “I can get more.”

“That’s good, Tom. I want you to get more. I want you to tell your supplier you sold what you had–let me know how much you should have gotten for it, and I can arrange for you to get that much in cash–and that you want more. Can you do that for me, Tom?”

“Yes,” came the response. “I can do that.”

“That’s good, Tom sweetie.” Luci slid off the bed and stood in one sinuous motion. “Now I want you to get dressed and rejoin the party. I’ll be out in a few minutes. Tell no one what we did in here together, or what we talked about; let them use their imaginations.” The demon-woman laughed.

Tom got dressed and left, a woozy smile on his face.

As the bedroom door closed behind Tom, Lilibat smirked. Another male was hopelessly under her power. And better yet, he’d given her the tool she needed to deal with Rita Hawkins once and for all–and with any other female who might get in her way.

She crossed to the nightstand and picked up the two glossy transparent envelopes her newest slave had deposited there. One had obviously been opened, and contained only a few of the yellow smiley-face tabs. The other, though, bulged with them. If they worked as advertised, what Tom had handed over would be more than enough to turn Fatakis’ sidekick into her eager puppet. And without Rita to help him, she could bring the occult investigator to his knees easily enough, as she had almost managed in their first battle.

Her eyes blazed.

A few minutes later, dressed in her bikini again, Luci rejoined the party. The drugged redhead from before was nowhere in sight.

“Oh, a couple of the guys took her home,” one of the guests explained. “She was still pretty high. From what the guy said who gave us the tab for her, she’ll be fine by morning.” He said nothing about the psychological craving Tom had mentioned; Luci wondered if Tom had bothered to tell him. A flicker of amusement lit her eyes as it occurred to her to wonder also if the men who’d left with the girl really meant only to take her home.

Well, it didn’t matter.

She rejoined the party just in time to see a sodden-drunk Dean Hinton being escorted to the door by his TV-executive friend. “Come along, Joe,” the friend was saying. “I think you need to call it a night. I’ll drive you home.”

“Aw . . . awrigh’,” she heard the dignified administrator slur. “Yer a pal, y’know that? Real pal.”

Luci chuckled. Apparently Hinton had obeyed her commands to the letter. He was quite obviously smashed out of his mind. When he woke up in the morning–the late morning, by the looks of things–he’d be humiliated. Good.

The festivities appeared to be winding down. It was no trouble for Luci to talk several of the remaining guests into “helping” her clean up; actually, they did all the work, although each of them believed Luci was doing a share of it. Finally, she sent them on their way.

When she was alone, she threw back her head and let loose peals of wild laughter. It was just too perfect! She’d actually been able to move among the foolish mortals in her true form, without any of them suspecting a thing.

For now, though, the fun was over. A moment’s concentration and her form rippled and flowed into the human one of Luci Ferra. She stepped into her bedroom.

Standing by her bed, she looked thoughtfully down at the packets on her nightstand. Before taking her revenge on Fatakis and Hawkins, she decided, a little test was in order–and she knew the perfect guinea pig.

The next day, dressed in a sleek business outfit, Luci appeared at First Union Bank. It was shortly before noon, and the bank was quiet; the midday rush of customers hadn’t started yet.

Luci was pleased to see that Jennie Morgan was sitting, unoccupied, at her desk. She walked over and spoke to the customer service rep: “Good morning, Jennie.”

Jennie looked up, startled, and smiled. “Oh! Ms. . . . Ferra, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, Jennie,” Luci said, smiling back and looking the bank clerk directly in the eyes. “But there’s no need to be so formal. Please, call me Luci.”

“Call you . . . Luci.” Her eyes riveted on those of the succubus, Jennie relaxed. Her voice went soft and dreamy. “Yes, Luci.”

The demon woman coolly examined the human one now sinking deeper and deeper into trance. Jennie was a slim, attractive black woman in her early twenties, with short, tightly-curled black hair and large eyes. Those eyes looked even larger at the moment as Jennie fell into Luci’s compelling gaze. Almost literally fell: she swayed forward, and Luci gently reached across to steady her.

“I need you to do something for me, Jennie,” Luci said. “I need you to call your manager, Mr. Hardesty for me. When you reach him, give me the phone; I want to speak with him.”

“Yes, Luci,” Jennie said. She picked up the handset on her desk and punched in Hardesty’s extension. “Mr. Hardesty? Ms. Luci Ferra is here, and would like to speak with you for a moment.” She listened for a few seconds, then handed the phone to Luci.

“Yes? Ms. Ferra?” Peter Hardesty’s voice emerged tinnily from the earpiece.

“You want to help your Mistress Luci, don’t you?” Luci asked.

There was a brief silence. Finally Hardesty responded, “Yes, Mistress Luci. I want to . . . help you.”

Luci smirked evilly. Hardesty’s trigger had obviously worked perfectly. The bank manager was now hers body and soul once more.

She had thought it might work, even though Jennie was standing right next to her; she was gaining experience with how minds under her control operated. Since Hardesty himself was alone in his office and she was the only other person he could hear, his “program” considered the two of them to be alone together–so “Mistress Luci” she was, once she’d spoken the words. If it hadn’t worked, of course, she would simply have asked to see him personally again, and put him back under once they were face to face.

“Your customer service representative Ms. Jennie Morgan will be leaving with me for the rest of the day,” she informed him. “You will find nothing wrong with this. Ms. Morgan is merely going to attend to some business.”

“Yes, Mistress Luci,” Hardesty agreed.

“Good boy, Peter,” Luci said sweetly. “When I hang up the phone, you will return to your normal business. You will not remember me giving you orders; you will remember only that Ms. Morgan will be assisting me for the rest of the day. Do you understand, and will you obey?”

“Yes, Mistress Luci,” Hardesty answered meekly. “I understand and will obey.”

“Good boy, Peter,” Luci said. She hung up.

Turning to Jennie, she announced, “We’re leaving now, Jennie doll. Punch out, or whatever you have to do, and come with me.”

“Yes, Ms. Ferra,” replied Jennie. “Of course, Ms. Ferra.”

No one objected as Luci and Jennie left the bank together.

Luci took Jennie back to the Stafford Arms. For what she had in mind, privacy was best.

When she stepped into Luci’s apartment, the bank clerk said, “Wow!” The lavish suite was far beyond anything she could hope to afford.

“Sit down, Jennie doll,” Luci ordered, gesturing toward one of the chairs in her living room. Jennie sat, of course, looking up at Luci.

The succubus sat in another chair, facing her subject, and looked searchingly into her eyes. “Jennie,” she said, “I’m going to ask you a personal question. A very personal question. You’re going to answer me with the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“Yes, Ms. Ferra,” Jennie answered. “What do you want to know?”

Luci smiled warmly. “You like women, don’t you? You’re attracted to them. You want to have sex with them. In fact, you want to have sex with me, don’t you?” She pushed with her power, just hard enough to compel her target to answer truthfully.

“What?” Jennie was suddenly agitated. “No! No, I’m not–I don’t–!”

Luci stood up and crossed over to Jennie. Standing over the bank clerk, she reached out to touch her shoulder. Jennie flinched, and tensed as if she were about to bolt from her seat and run for the door.

Luci caught her eyes and said, “Don’t worry, Jennie. I was only asking. You don’t have to do anything like that if you really don’t want to.”

“Thank you, Ms. Ferra,” Jennie sighed, settling back into her chair.

Now for the real test, Luci thought. She reached into her jacket and produced the tab of Nirvana she had pocketed earlier. She held it out to Jennie.

“Here, take this,” she instructed. “Just take it and swallow it, there’s a good girl.”

Jennie took the tab from Luci’s outstretched hand and swallowed it.

As Luci watched, the other woman’s features smoothed into a bland mask. Her pupils dilated, and her breathing settled into a deep, even rhythm as if she were asleep.

Luci asked, “How do you feel, Jennie?”

“I feel won-der-ful, Ms. Ferra,” Jennie chirped.

“Luci,” the succubus corrected her. “We’re such good friends. You must call me Luci.”

“Yes, Luci.”

Luci laughed. “Now, Jennie, do you remember what we were talking about before? About how you’re attracted to women? To me?”

“Yes, Luci.” Jennie giggled.

“Well, it’s true,” Luci went on. “You’re attracted to women. You want to have sex with women–especially me. You want me so badly, don’t you? Of course you do. You want me so badly you can’t stand it.”

Jennie gasped. “Oh . . . yes. Please. I-I want you. Please.” Her breathing turned ragged and sweat popped out on her forehead.

Luci extended a hand and helped the other woman stand up. “Come on into my bedroom, Jennie doll.”

Squirming with delight, Jennie obeyed.

The next several hours were a fever of action. Jennie and Luci explored each other’s bodies hungrily. There was no trace of Jennie’s former reluctance as she sucked and nibbled at Luci’s breasts before licking her way down to the space between the demon-female’s legs. Reaching her goal, she began to lick frantically, as her hands reached up to claw at the small of Luci’s back and the succubus raked her spine in return. Pleasure shuddered through both of them, again and again, the Nirvana amplifying every sensation for the bank clerk. At last, exhausted and sated, head still buried between Luci’s legs, Jennie drifted off to sleep.

After a bit, a smug Luci got up to take a shower. As the scalding water cascaded over her, she basked in triumph. The Nirvana had been everything Tom had promised.

Thinking of Rita Hawkins and her wizard employer, Luci promised herself that payback would be a real bitch.

Jerry, it turned out, was working in the late Reverend Charles Kellogg Bryer’s evangelical organization, now renamed the Lee Spirit-Filled Ministries after Bryer’s successor, Mississippi’s own Reverend John Calhoun Lee. He was traveling at the moment, touring Africa on one of the Reverend Lee’s highly-promoted overseas “crusades.” Luci felt a pang of regret. Ah, well, she consoled herself, I can always catch up with him later.

Brad, by contrast, was–Luci hissed with glee–right here at FCU. He hadn’t been quite good enough a player for pro football, or smart enough for a good “regular” job. So when the university had offered him a place in its sports department, on the coaching staff, he’d jumped at it.

First things first, though.

She strolled over to the administration building and headed for the dean’s office. She had no trouble finding it; she’d spent enough time there as Susan Jones, both before and after her bargain with Asmodiel.

The receptionist was someone new since Dean Mather’s time, a chilly blonde who wore her hair tightly bound. As Luci came in, she looked up from reading a religious tract. Craning her neck a little, Luci saw its title: THE DAY OF THE LORD’S WRATH IS COMING: Will You Be Ready?

The blonde fixed Luci with a cool stare. “Yes?” she asked. “Do you have an appointment?”

Luci met the other’s ice-blue eyes. “No, I don’t,” she answered. “But he’ll see me.”

She concentrated. The secretary’s eyes widened and lost focus. “Call him now and tell him Ms. Luci Ferra is here to see him. Tell him it’s very important.”

“Yes,” the other woman answered. “Of course.” She did as she had been bidden. After a few seconds she went on, “Dean Hinton will see you now.”

Luci went on in, casting a speculative glance back at the blonde. The woman was actually quite good-looking in a severe sort of way. Perhaps she’d make a good candidate for a dose or two of Nirvana. After all, the more people she could corrupt, the easier it would be to destroy this outpost of self-righteousness. Dean Hinton looked up as Luci entered his office.

“It is you,” he said. “The woman from that party.” He turned pink.

“You mean the party where you got blotto drunk and had to be helped home?” Luci inquired in a syrupy tone. “Yes, you’re right.”

Hinton’s face darkened further. “What do you want here, Ms. Ferra?”

“You,” she answered bluntly. Then she moved in for the kill.

“Look into my eyes, Dean Hinton,” she instructed. Her victim obeyed. “That’s right, just look into my eyes, and listen to my voice, and relax, yes, look, and listen, and relax. Look deeper, deeper, listen to my voice and lose yourself in my eyes, yes. . . .”

To Professor Joseph Hinton, it was as if he’d stumbled in front of a pair of brilliant searchlights, dazzling pinwheels which filled his vision and drew him in. His office was gone; there were only the twin whirlpools of beautiful light, and a wonderful voice telling him things, explaining everything. After a little while, the two lights flowed together into a single gorgeous spinning tunnel of light through which he plunged forever. It was heaven. Luci looked at Dean Hinton and smiled. He sat there with glazed eyes, a thread of saliva beginning to stretch downward from one corner of his slackly open mouth. He was deep, deep in trance. Inspiration struck her.

“Dean Hinton,” she addressed the helplessly hypnotized man in front of her, “I’m going to ask you some very personal questions, and you’re going to tell me the truth.”

“Of, of course,” Hinton droned. “What do you, want to know.”

“Your secretary outside, Dean Hinton,” Luci responded. “What’s her name?”

“Greta Nordquist,” Hinton answered. “Her name is Greta Nordquist.”

“You find her attractive, don’t you? Very attractive. You want her, don’t you? Remember, you must tell the truth.”

Hinton sighed. “Yes. Very attractive.” After a moment, he confessed: “I hired her because she’s, very attractive. Because I, want her.”

“Have the two of you ever dated?” Luci doubted it. The cool blonde didn’t seem likely to be attracted to someone like Hinton.

“No,” came the answer “I asked her, but, she said no.”

“I’m going to do you a favor, Joseph–I can call you Joseph, can’t I?” At the Dean’s eager nod, Luci elaborated. “I’m going to fix it so she wants you too. I’m going to fix it so you can have her. If I do that for you, you’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”

The Dean panted, “Yes. Yes. Do anything, if you do that.” He was shivering with desire.

“Then come with me, Joseph.” Luci turned and headed out of the office. Dean Hinton, a massive erection bulging in his pants and a glazed look in his eyes, followed her.

Outside, she got the secretary’s attention. “Ms. Nordquist?”

The ice queen looked up from her reading and met Luci’s eyes. “Yes? I–ooooohhhh. . . .”

“Yes, that’s right,” Luci instructed. “Look into my eyes, Greta dear. Look into my eyes, and relax, and obey.”

“Eyes. Relax. Obey.” The blonde’s habitual stern expression melted along with her will.

Luci handed her a tab of Nirvana and commanded her to swallow it. Greta obeyed mechanically. Within seconds, as the drug hit her, Greta’s breathing shifted into the same deep rhythm Jennie had displayed.

“Answer me truthfully, Greta dear,” Luci commanded. Indicating the dazed man behind her, she asked, “Would you ever date Professor Hinton here? Would you ever go to bed with him?”

“No,” said Greta. “Never. He’s not my type.” Hearing her, even in his own trance state, Hinton winced.

“Yes, he is,” Luci contradicted her. “You want him, you have to have him, right here and now. You can’t stop yourself.”

Greta’s breathing changed. Her eyes shifted to Hinton, who was gazing at her greedily. “Nnnooo,” she moaned, hands coming up to caress her breasts. “Sh-shouldn’t. Mustn’t. Can’t, can’t help it, Professor, Dean, Joseph, please.”

She writhed out of her jacket, then pulled her blouse off over her head without bothering to unbutton it. The bra came next.

By the time she got the rest of her clothes off, Hinton was naked as well. Before allowing things to go any further, Luci made a final suggestion to Greta: “Dear, when you have sex with Professor Hinton, you will feel every pleasurable sensation multiplied a hundredfold. It will be overwhelming. When you’re done, you’ll be eager to do anything to be allowed to feel that way again.”

“Yes,” Greta agreed blandly.

“Good girl,” the demoness said. “Now both of you, go ahead. Do what you want to do, and don’t stop–you can’t stop!–until I tell you to.”

Hinton and Greta obeyed. They threw themselves at each other in a frenzy, heaving and bucking. The pair toppled onto Greta’s desk, and their writhing flesh sent books, papers, phone and desk lamp flying. When Hinton came, Greta orgasmed with him; the force of their mutual climax was enough to throw them off the desk onto the floor. Deep in the throes of passion and under Luci’s command to keep going, they didn’t even notice. The succubus watched, reveling in her power over them.

Finally she intervened. “You may stop now, Joseph, Greta. Stop now, and rest.”

The pair fell away from each other, gasping. Two sets of glassy eyes closed in utter contentment.

Luci allowed her slaves to bask in the afterglow of their exertions for a few minutes before issuing her next instructions. When she spoke, it was to both of them.

“Joseph. Greta. Sit up now, please.”

They sat up.

“Open your eyes and listen carefully.”

Hinton and Greta opened their eyes, focused on Luci, and listened carefully.

“You enjoyed what just happened, didn’t you?”

The Dean and his secretary moaned agreement.

“You’d do anything for it to happen again.” It was not a question.

“Anything,” two voices whimpered in unison.

“Then what you must do for me is help me distribute this.” Luci pulled out the packet from which she’d taken the tab she’d used on Greta. “This is what the university needs, more than anything. It helps people do things they would never be able to do otherwise. You understand that especially, don’t you, Greta dear?”

“Yes,” the blonde whispered. “Oh, yes.”

“Then you both agree to help me? To do whatever I say, and especially to help me distribute this to others on campus?”

“Yes,” the mesmerized man and the drugged woman chorused. “Do whatever you say. Help you distribute the pills.”

“That’s good, Joseph, Greta.” Luci reached down and patted the pair on the heads like an indulgent mother caressing her children. “Now what you need to do right now is get up and go back to work. Tell no one what happened here. I will come to you with more of these tabs, which are called Nirvana, and when I do, you will arrange for others to try them. When they do, you will help me persuade them to distribute the Nirvana to even more people. Do you understand, and will you obey?”

“Yes,” Joseph and Greta chanted. “Of course.”

“Good. Then do as I’ve told you to do, now, please.”

Like puppets on strings, Joseph Hinton and Greta Nordquist rose to their feet. Mechanically, they collected their cast-off clothes and dressed themselves. Then, smiling vacantly, they went to their desks, Hinton automatically closing his office door behind him. Greta picked up everything they had flung off her desk and put it back as it had been; by a near miracle, neither her lamp nor her phone was broken.

Luci left, satisfied. Assuming Tom and his unknown suppliers could provide enough tabs, she could break FCU in a matter of weeks. Her only real weakness, last time, had been her incomplete control over women–but with Nirvana on her side, that was no longer a problem

And once things really got rolling here at good old Fuck U, it would be time to deal with Fatakis and Hawkins. All she needed to do was get their attention–and once they came to investigate, they’d be hers.

Dean Hinton blinked.

What in the name of God had just happened? He’d been talking with that Ferra woman, and the next thing he knew, he and Greta Nordquist had been acting out his deepest fantasies all over the reception area! Thank God nobody had actually seen them!

But, Ms. Ferra had been there, hadn’t she? Yes–and she’d given Greta something, some drug, that had made her do everything the other woman told her to. And then Ms. Ferra had told the two of them to have sex, and they’d done it, and kept doing it, until she’d told them to stop!

God, it had been glorious!

He remembered Ms. Ferra asking the two of them, afterward, to help her distribute more of this drug–Nirvana, that was what she’d called it–on campus. He remembered agreeing, and hearing Greta do the same.

But drugs were bad, weren’t they? Hadn’t he always thought so?

Hinton remembered the pleasure, and the bad thoughts went away. Of course he’d do what Ms. Ferra wanted. She’d promised to let him have Greta again, and he’d do anything for that.

“Anything,” he whispered.

Greta Nordquist blinked.

What in the name of God had just happened? Dean Hinton had come out of his office with the redhead who’d asked to see him before. Greta frowned; she didn’t remember letting the woman in to see the dean. Anyway, the two of them had come out, and the woman had given her some sort of yellow pill with a smiley-face marking on it and told her to swallow it, and for some reason, she’d obeyed.

And then!

It was crazy. After taking the pill, it was like she couldn’t say no. It had just felt so good to do as she was told, no matter what it was! And the redhead had told her she wanted sex with Dean Hinton more than anything, and suddenly it had been true. The woman had told the two of them to . . . to fuck each other right there, until she told them to stop–and they’d done it!

And it had been wonderful! Greta nearly came again just from the memory. Nothing else had mattered until the redhead–Ms. Ferra, that was her name–told them to stop. And after, she’d told them to help her give the drug, the . . . Nirvana . . . to others, and she’d been eager to say yes. Hinton had agreed too, she vaguely recalled, although she’d been too lost in the lingering pleasure to pay much attention to him. Ms. Ferra had promised that if they did what she told them, they could have the pleasure again.

And she wanted it. Desperately. Greta remembered what the sex had felt like, and the different but equally strong pleasure she’d experienced whenever she had obeyed one of Ms. Ferra’s orders.

She knew that the redhead was drawing her into something evil. Selling drugs? Drugs that could make people do absolutely anything, feel anything, they were told to? She ought to call the police! But . . . that would mean she’d never feel those feelings again, and she’d do anything to have those feelings again.

“Anything,” she whispered.

As Luci had commanded, Tom Dennis contacted her with the price for the tabs he’d given her. It was over fourteen thousand dollars, but with her “in” at First Union Bank, that was no trouble for her. Shortly thereafter, he visited her apartment and gave her several more packets.

“My suppliers were quite pleased,” he informed her. “I let them think I sold it all myself, and thanks to the cash you came up with, I was able to pay them in full.” He reached into the briefcase he’d brought with him, in which he’d brought Luci’s new supply of Nirvana, and pulled out a fat brown envelope. He offered it to her.

“Your cut,” he announced. “I get twenty percent of what I sell; since you helped me, I’m giving you twenty percent of what you sold. Twenty-eight hundred dollars.”

“That’s very nice, Tom, sweetie,” Luci said. Instead of taking the money, however, she reached up, unbuttoned her blouse and stepped out of it. She wasn’t wearing a bra; the massive, firm globes of her breasts didn’t really need one.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Tom stammered, staring at Luci’s rack as she’d expected.

“Just proving a point, sweetie,” Luci answered. Her right hand came up, cupping the breast on that side and raising it; long, polished nails framed its stiff nipple. “Suck my tit, Tom sweetie, and forget everything else.”

“I–wait, I . . . ” Tom’s voice trailed off. Like a zombie, he stepped forward, then bent over Luci, covering her bare breast with his mouth. He sucked. “Mmmm. Mmmm.”

As Tom Dennis continued to nurse, Luci brought her hands up to gently stroke his hair. “That’s it, baby. Suck away; you’re a sucker for Luci, aren’t you?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“That’s what I thought, Tom, sweetie.” Luci kept on stroking Tom’s hair with one hand, while the other went up to brush lightly at her own. “Now as I was saying, I’m just proving a point. Would you like to know what that point is, Tom, sweetie?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“The point is, Tom, sweetie, I’m the one in charge. I think we both agree on that, don’t we?”

“Mmm-hmmm!” The answer was emphatic. Eager.

“Now Tom, the thing is, if I’m in charge, don’t you think I ought to get the eighty percent, and you the twenty, instead of the other way around?” She wanted a more articulate answer this time, so she gently lifted Tom’s head. His lips came away from her nipple with an audible pop.

“Yeth,” he lisped. “You sh’d get th’ eighty . . . p’cent. Oooohhh. . . .”

“That’s what I thought, Tom.” Luci raised Tom’s chin until his eyes met hers again from under heavy lids. “And who’s in charge?”

“You–oooh! You are! You are!” Tom shuddered in the grip of a sudden, helpless orgasm. When it finally ended, he hung his head, gasping.

“I’m so glad we could come to an understanding, Tom,” Luci said. “From now on, whenever you feel like disagreeing with me, I want you to remember what just happened. I want you to remember it as if it were happening all over again, and I want it to make you as helpless as you are right now. Will you do that for me, Tom, sweetie?”

“Yes,” Tom agreed.

“And if you ever hear me say, ‘You’re a sucker for Luci,’ Tom, you will feel the same way and will do exactly as I say, because I’m in charge and you’re a sucker for me. You will do this even if you only hear me over the phone. Do you understand, and will you do as I’ve asked?”

“Yes. I understand and will . . . do as you’ve asked.”

“That’s a good boy, Tom,” Luci said. “And because you’ve been a good boy, I’m going to reward you.” In an instant, she was Lilibat.

Tom came to her eagerly. Clothing was quickly discarded and the two of them fell onto Luci’s–Lilibat’s–big bed. The she-fiend began amusing herself with the trick she’d learned earlier, stroking the key spots on Tom’s back with her tail barb and sending him into a rigid paralysis of ecstasy. He couldn’t speak; his limbs and rod stood out at mechanical attention. His eyes rolled up into his head, and the only motion he could manage was a joyous shivering.

At last Lilibat relented, disentangling herself from Tom and ending her tail massage of his spine. She didn’t want him dropping dead on her, at least not yet.

With a gasp of relief, the blond man relaxed. His eyes closed, and he was asleep in seconds. He slept through the night.

When he woke in the morning, Luci tested his new program. “Tell me, Tom,” she asked casually, “who’s in charge?”

He answered immediately: “You are, Luci. You are in charge.”

“That’s right,” she responded. “You’re a sucker for me, aren’t you, Tom. You’re a sucker for Luci.”

“Ohhhhh,” Tom breathed. He swayed toward her, eyes unfocused. Smirking triumphantly, Luci opened her blouse to bare one breast. Tom stumbled over, placed his puckered mouth over the exposed nipple and began to suck. Soon, he shuddered and came.

When she detached him at last, she had to lead the smiling man to a chair and carefully seat him in it. It was several minutes before his awareness of reality returned. When it finally did, he whispered, “Thank you, Luci . . . thank you. . . .”

Luci’s new understanding with Tom Dennis did a lot to bolster her bank account. Before long, in fact, she had to pay another visit to Peter Hardesty. With his help, a set of confidential accounts was created to shield most of her money from the prying eyes of such interlopers as the IRS.

A number of federal laws were bypassed in the process; if the authorities ever learned what the banker had done, he could go to prison. He didn’t care, though. He would do anything, anything at all, for his Mistress Luci. His systems expert Aaron Lieber was similarly anxious to please her.

Luci’s stealthy campaign to spread Nirvana was breaking other laws as well, of course. She didn’t care about that. Was she not Lilibat, demon of desire? She was above mere human law!

The one drawback was that so far, Dr. Fatakis and his bimbo sidekick hadn’t shown up. Very well; she knew how to force the issue.

Luci was busy screwing a mesmerized Dean Hinton when the door to his office banged open and his wife charged in. The dumpy middle-aged woman took one look at what was going on and screamed.

She lunged at Luci, hands clenched into claws. Luci climbed off the desktop where she and Hinton had been working each other ad intercepted the Dean’s wife, calmly catching the woman’s wrists in her hands. Behind her back, Hinton continued to buck and thrust mechanically, unaware that his lover had left him.

Luci shifted form, becoming Lilibat, and smiled a demon’s smile at Mrs. Hinton. The mortal woman shrieked again and seemed about to faint. Lilibat forestalled her.

“No,” she commanded. “Don’t faint.” Her eyes burned orange. “If you do, you’ll leave your husband alone with me, and you don’t want that, do you?”

“No,” gasped Mrs. Hinton. She didn’t faint, but the world seemed oddly far away.

“You can’t stop me by yourself,” Lilibat told her. “You need to get help, right away.”

“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Hinton. “Help.” Then, in a worried tone, “Where?”

“There is a man called Dr. Fatakis. Dr. Nicholas Fatakis.” Lilibat let go of the other woman’s wrists. Mrs. Hinton let her arms drop to her sides and stood passively. “You will contact him, and tell him you have seen the demon Lilibat at Freedom Christian University and that she is spreading her influence there. You will describe my appearance and say that I changed form right in front of you. If you call him and say these things, he will come here and save your husband, make me go away. And you will call, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Hinton said. She nodded.

“Here is Dr. Fatakis’ address and telephone number,” Lilibat said, and gave the Dean’s wife the information. The Doctor had been easy enough to find through the Internet. “You must contact him immediately. You must do it without telling anyone else what you saw here; if you told anyone else, it would start a panic. And besides,” she smirked, “if you told anyone else, everyone would know your husband had been unfaithful to you–and with a creature of darkness. You don’t want that.”

Tears in her eyes, the other woman sobbed, “No, I don’t.” Drawing a ragged breath, she went on, “I’ll call Dr. Fatakis right away.” She turned and ran out of the office, not even bothering to close the door and without remembering that her husband was still there with the succubus.

Lilibat shut the office door and smiled triumphantly. All it had taken was one phone call from Greta Nordquist that her husband needed to see her right away, and the stupid cow had come running. Once she’d seen Luci with Joseph, and seen her transform into her demon shape, the woman had been easy to program to “get help.” The she-demon’s suggestions had been perfectly in line with Mrs. Hinton’s natural inclinations; she’d hardly had to use her powers at all.

She turned her attention back to Dean Hinton, who was still bucking blissfully on top of his desk, dick in the air. Climbing up, she mounted her stupefied stallion once more. As she settled onto him, he whinnied in pleasure.

Rita Hawkins hung up the phone, frowning. The woman on the other end had been hysterical. She’d sounded like just another of the hundreds of crank callers she and the Doctor had to deal with every year in their work.

Except . . . Rita remembered the Lilibat case. That had been for real, and had cost several people their lives. She and Dr. Fatakis might have been among the casualties if the demon hadn’t gotten careless.

The serious-faced brunette shuddered as she remembered how Lilibat had gained control of her, forced her to stand helplessly by while the demoness fought to strengthen her hold on the Doctor. When he had resisted, aided by his mystical skills, Lilibat had finally made a mistake, commanding Rita to break the pentagram and let her out. If she’d obeyed, the demon would have been able to enslave Dr. Fatakis completely.

Rita had refused. Releasing a demon was so deeply offensive to her moral sense that she couldn’t do it. When Lilibat, furious at her disobedience, had commanded her to kill herself, that had been the final straw. The enchantment holding her had been broken–and the succubus’ distraction had weakened her control of the Doctor just enough to let him complete her banishment. After that, the mortal body of Dr. Susan Jones, the fiend’s human host, had crumbled to dust like a vampire in the sun.

And the call had come from Freedom Christian University, where they’d faced the succubus before.

Pressing her lips together in a tight line, Rita picked up the phone again and punched the speed-dial number for Dr. Fatakis’ cell phone.

“Dr. Fatakis?” she said when he answered. “I think we have a situation.”

The party was in full swing at the FCU Student Union.

Luci, surveying it, felt smug. Her influence was making itself felt. So was that of the Nirvana she and her slaves were spreading around.

In one corner, a group of young guys was gathered around the gorgeous but usually frigid Miss Christie Lowe, the university’s head librarian. One tab of Nirvana, dropped into Miss Lowe’s lemonade at Luci’s mischievous suggestion, had turned her into pliant flesh. As the college boys cheered her on, she writhed on her back on a table, kicking her way out of her panties. Most of the rest of her clothes were already gone, tossed away and claimed as souvenirs by the boys.

Dean Hinton, who was supposed to be chaperoning, had other things on his mind. In a side room, he and Greta Nordquist were thrusting and panting, unaware of anything but each other. Greta was tabbed out too, her inhibitions gone; Luci was tempted to take her as she’d done with Jennie. Or perhaps, she thought idly, I should have Jennie and Greta do each other. In public, of course.

Nirvana wasn’t the only mind-altering substance present, either.

Luci drifted by a table bearing several large punch bowls. A strong alcoholic whiff came from them. Alcohol was forbidden on campus, but Dean Hinton had been easy to talk into ignoring the rules; since that night at Luci’s apartment, he’d become a full-blown lush. The succubus had pushed him along, inspired by her success at making him drink himself into a stupor at her apartment party. Now he couldn’t get through the day without drinking.

She smiled a feral smile. By the time she was done with him, he’d be a drooling drunk in the gutter somewhere. If his wife didn’t kill him first, for screwing around with her.

There was someone present she was particularly glad to see. Brad Connor had come in along with several members of the varsity football squad.

Luci studied him. The youthful handsomeness she recalled was still there, a few more years having merely added character to his features. The junior coach’s outfit he had on fit snugly over his well-muscled form.

Brad Connor noticed the spectacular redhead checking him out. What a babe, he thought. Funny, though–I’d swear I’d seen her before somewhere. He licked his lips and wound his way toward her through the partiers.

He felt vaguely guilty. He knew that what he was thinking and feeling about this woman wasn’t very Christian. But then, he’d never been a saint. He grinned slightly, remembering a couple of times he’d given in to temptation.

As he approached the woman, Brad thought suddenly of his old prof from Medieval History, years ago. What was her name–Jones? Yeah, Dr. Jones. She’d disappeared after that weird flap when the Reverend Bryer and a couple of other people had died. He had no idea why he’d suddenly thought of her; certainly the dowdy professor hadn’t looked anything like this doll.

Reaching his objective at last, he introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Brad,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Brad, uh–!”

Suddenly, he faltered. Those eyes–they were so beautiful. He could get lost in them, and it would be glorious. . . .

“Brad what?” the redhead prompted.

“Brad Connor,” he managed, the phonograph needle in his mind coming unstuck. “Yeah . . . Brad Connor. That’s my name.”

“What do you do, Brad?” the vision of loveliness inquired.

Brad puffed out his chest. “I’m one of the coaches for Freedom Christian’s sports program, Miss . . . ?”

“Ms.,” the woman corrected him. “Ms. Luci Ferra. You can call me Luci, if you like, if I can call you Brad. I can call you Brad, can’t I? Of course I can.”

“Of . . . of course you can,” Brad gasped.

Luci smiled at Brad. For just a moment, there had seemed to be a flicker of recognition in his eyes. She’d taken him while wearing this form, back before her banishment, and ordinarily any man would remember having sex with someone who looked like her. As Susan Jones, however, she had commanded both Brad and her first conquest Jerry Chisholm to remember their erotic trysts with her, in any shape, as nothing but exciting dreams. By now, his memories of his “fantasy” encounters should have faded–and so, it seemed, they had. After a moment, the glimmer of familiarity faded.

“That’s nice, Brad,” she said, answering his agreement to let her call him by his first name. “I’m so glad we’re going to be friends.”

Luci giggled girlishly. “Brad, sweetie, do you think we could find someplace private to talk? If we can, I’ll tell you a secret.”

Brad, falling deeper and deeper into the she-demon’s eyes, managed, “Y-yeah. Sure. Someplace private.” Turning away with an obvious effort, he mumbled, “I know a place. Follow me.”

The muscular young man led the demon seductress away from the big hall where the festivities were going on. As she left the room, Luci noted out of the corner of her eye that Christie Lowe, still on the table and quite naked now, was squirming and squealing beneath the equally naked form of one of the varsity guys. Her legs were locked firmly around him and he pumped into her as onlookers cheered.

The succubus smirked at that. No one was trying to break it up, or calling for campus security or the local cops. The corruption of her influence was spreading beyond those she had subjugated directly. Her eyes glowed, ever so faintly.

Brad led her into a small lounge which contained several low, wide couches upholstered in soft material. “Here,” he said, waving a hand at one of them, “please sit, and you can tell me whatever it was you wanted to tell me.”

Luci sat. A moment later, so did Brad, taking a position on the same couch, facing her. He looked earnestly into her eyes.

She smiled warmly. “Brad, do you know who I am?”

“S-sure,” he answered. Her eyes made him feel unsteady. “You’re . . . you’re Luci.” Those eyes, those beautiful eyes–he struggled to recall her last name. Those eyes. . . . “Luci . . . Ferra,” he finally managed.

“That’s not what I asked,” the demoness chided. “Think, Brad sweetie. Haven’t you met me before?”

“I-I-I . . .” Brad struggled. Those eyes. Those wonderful eyes. There was something familiar about those eyes. . . .

The memory, dredged up at last under the prodding of Luci’s power and suggestion, made him gasp. “Dr. Jones?”

“That’s just who I am, all right,” she cooed. “I’m the woman of your dreams, isn’t that true, Brad? The woman of your hottest, wettest dreams.”

“Nnnngh,” Brad grunted as a wave of pure pleasure shot through him along with the long-suppressed memories of what the two of them had done together. “Oh, God! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Susan! Oh, YES!” His trousers tented with a sudden massive erection.

Luci hissed in pain at the Names Brad had uttered. As she’d done with Jennie, she moved quickly to prevent him from doing it again. “Brad, sugar, don’t swear!” She fluttered her eyelashes at him coyly, and reveled at his answering squeal of pleasure. “Don’t say those names to me, ever again. You won’t, now will you? There’s a good boy.”

Brad accepted her decree, of course, as Jennie had. He nodded. “I . . . I won’t,” he promised.

“But,” Brad had enough of a mind left to ask, “what happened to you? You disappeared!”

“A bad man made me go away, Brad,” Luci answered, speaking as if to a child or a moron–which Brad, falling deeper and deeper into trance as he continued to stare into her eyes, effectively was now. “A very bad man.”

“A very . . . bad man.” Brad nodded again. His face had smoothed into trusting innocence.

“And when I came back, Brad,” Luci went on, “I had to come in disguise. You must never call me Susan, or Dr. Jones, ever again, do you understand me? Never. It’s our little secret who I really am.”

“Yes,” Brad agreed softly. “Our little secret.”

Luci cupped Brad’s face in her elegant, long-nailed hands, holding his gaze and watching as he dove happily deeper into her eyes. Brad, she remembered, had been quite amusing as a sexual play-toy. He could be useful in other ways, too, she realized: as muscle, for instance. In her demon form, she was inhumanly strong, but she couldn’t be everywhere. It would be handy to have a thrall as strong as Brad.

Yes, very handy indeed.

She addressed Brad once more. “Brad, sugar, the bad man who sent me away before may be coming back again. He wants to hurt me, Brad.”

The beefy athlete whimpered.

“Yes,” Luci continued. “He wants to hurt me. He wants to send me away. And if he sends me away, you won’t ever see me again.”

“No,” Brad sobbed. “No, please. Don’t go. Don’t go. . . .”

“I don’t want to go, Brad. I like it here.” Luci kept her hold on Brad’s eyes and stroked the sides of his face soothingly, lulling him. “You’ll help me stay, won’t you, Brad? You’ll do anything I need you to, to keep the bad man from sending me away.”

“Yes,” the big man promised in a child’s voice. “I’ll do anything.”

“I’m so glad,” Luci said. With serpentine grace, she slid across the couch, pressing herself against Brad and fastening her lips on his. Brad’s body responded instantly, his rampant hard-on growing even more as his arms seized at her. His hands tangled in her long, long dark red hair.

Very soon, the two of them were naked and bucking against each other on the big, soft couch. Brad was nothing but eager flesh; if the entire university administration had trooped through the lounge, he couldn’t have stopped. He wouldn’t have noticed them, or even remembered who they were. Luci, of course, would have been delighted to put on a show for those pious prudes–before making them grovel at her feet.

Reluctantly, the succubus cut it short after only twenty minutes or so. She had other business.

Brad shuddered helplessly in the grip of his third orgasm since they’d started. He slumped over her, obviously ready to pass out. She didn’t let him.

“Brad, sugar,” she commanded, “stay with me. Stay awake. Relaxed, so relaxed, but awake.”

“Yes, Luci,” came his answer. Brad propped himself on his elbows so he could continue to gaze into those all-important eyes. He sighed, utterly content.

“Brad,” instructed Luci, “we need to get up and get dressed. We need to go back to the party. Now, please, Brad.”

The junior coach sighed again, less happily this time. He obeyed anyway. Naturally.

A half-hour after they’d left, Luci and Brad returned to the party. Both were neatly dressed again, even their hair in place. A happy glaze was slowly fading from Brad’s eyes. His satanic seductress had permitted him to remember what they’d done together, though she’d “asked” him not to tell anyone. “Let’s keep our privacy, shall we, Brad, sugar?” she’d said playfully.

No one had even noticed they were gone. Christie Lowe, the lusty librarian, was still a major center of attention; she and a new partner were on their knees on her table, pounding into each other while spectators clapped and cheered. Driven by the drug bubbling through her brain, she was insatiable, inexhaustible. Every lewd suggestion hooted by someone within earshot became her absolute command, and obeying brought pleasure so powerful it blasted away anything resembling thought. Eventually the Nirvana would loosen its grip, and when it did, she would drop into a deep, happy sleep–but not yet.

Luci laughed softly. When Miss Lowe woke up, she’d remember everything, unless someone told her not to–and no matter what her moral scruples might be, she’d soon be longing for another dose. If she got one (and Luci would make sure of it), she’d be hooked for certain.

Scanning the room, Luci suddenly saw a familiar face. She hadn’t seen that face in five years, but it was burned into her mind. She felt a vicious satisfaction: Rita Hawkins was here. And if she was, that meant Dr. Fatakis couldn’t be far away.

All it would take, she thought, would be one tab of Nirvana, and the self-righteous brunette would be eager to do anything she wanted, no matter how evil or humiliating. And after another dose or two, she’d belong to Luci, heart, mind and soul, despite her immunity to the demon-woman’s magic.

Luci’s incipient stalk on the paranormal investigator was interrupted, though, when she noticed a man gawking at her. By itself, that would have been nothing: men couldn’t help gawking at her, even when she wasn’t deliberately trying to seduce them. But there was something about this one. She didn’t recognize him, and he had an air of being somehow out of place here.

Perhaps, she decided, she should to get to know him better.

Walter Karendren stared at Luci. The magnificent woman with the rippling waist-length charcoal-red hair was hard not to stare at. She had caught his attention the moment she’d first entered the room, and when she’d left with that jock, Brad whatever-his-name-was, he’d felt a powerful surge of jealousy. Now she was back.

God, she was beautiful.

Business, he reminded himself. I’m here on business.

And so he was. Division Six of the Department of Homeland Security had sent him here to investigate what might be a threat to national security.

Division Six was perhaps the most secret arm of DHS. It investigated potential threats involving mind control, and over the few years since its founding, it had encountered an amazing variety of such threats. Some were simple, involving the use of drugs or hypnosis; D6 was active in the war against narcotics like Nirvana and its chemical cousin Yes, and some years ago, a nerdboy inventor at the secular college whose campus was now occupied by Freedom Christian University had come up with a sophisticated type of hypnotic pendant and had had to be dealt with. But this was different.

Agent Karendren remembered what he’d read in the file. Five years ago, an embittered female professor here had apparently–he still found it hard to believe this stuff–summoned a demon and made a bargain with it for power over others. Several people had died, and in the end it had been a private operator, rather than D6, who had defeated her.

He gulped. According to the file, the professor had become the chrysalis for a succubus. Over time, the she-demon had taken over, corrupting and finally consuming her until, when it was exorcised, what was left had simply crumbled away. His superiors were afraid the creature was back.

He hoped they were wrong. Just in case they weren’t, though, he’d come prepared with Division-standard precautions: a small gold crucifix on a neck chain tucked inconspicuously beneath his shirt, a vial of holy water stashed in an inside coat pocket, and D6-issue mirror shades to guard against strobe hypnosis. If he needed anything more, he was probably doomed anyway; he didn’t have the training for heavy-duty supernatural conflict. He was just supposed to find out whether a demon was present. If one was, whether it was the one from before or a different hellspawn, he was supposed to notify Washington and then get out.

Karendren chuckled. If it turned out there was no demon, he wouldn’t mind getting closer to that spectacular redhead. The government-agent racket definitely had its perks.

He was startled to realize that the beauty was coming toward him, undulating her way through the crowd with a growing tail of guys behind her who had suddenly found it interesting to move in that direction. The Division Six agent grinned. He could hardly blame them.

Suddenly she was right there in front of him. A rich voice said, “I don’t recall seeing you around the campus before. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

“Uh, uh, um, I’m, er,” Walter answered, suddenly completely flustered, “Walter.” He swallowed. “Walter, um, Calendar, I mean, Karendren.” It was a sign of how off-balance he was that he’d blurted the nickname he’d gotten stuck with in grade school.

“I’m Luci Ferra, Walter,” that voice returned. Drawn by it, Walter looked into its owner’s eyes.

Luci smiled as the man she’d come over to see suddenly stiffened, his eyes going wide and blank as a stupid smile spread over his face. Her eyes glowed faintly red.

There was nothing but those eyes. Walter was falling, falling toward twin swirls of dazzling color, and it was wonderful. After a few seconds–or perhaps it was a million years–the pinwheels merged into a single fabulous maelstrom which drew him further in, deeper down, deeper.

A voice began speaking. It was the voice of an angel, a goddess. It said things, wonderful things. It was the only sound he heard, or ever wanted to hear.

“Tell me, Walter,” Luci asked, putting her hand on his arm, “what do you do for a living?”

Walter answered happily. “I’m a federal agent.” He puffed out his chest. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to impress the owner of those eyes and that voice. “I work for Homeland Security–Division Six.” He eagerly spelled out D6’s mission to his luscious listener.

“That’s very interesting, Walter dear,” Luci said. Indeed it was. Government involvement was something she didn’t want, if she could help it. And she could. “Why don’t we go someplace private and talk?”

“Yes,” breathed Walter. “Please.”

Luci propped a playful forefinger under Walter’s chin and steered her stupefied subject out of the big ballroom, away from the party, as if she’d had him on a leash.

Her admirers tried to follow, but Luci swept her eyes back and forth over them and said, her voice teasing, “Now boys, be good. I want a little privacy for a while. You don’t mind, do you, cuties?”

Moans and gasps of pleasure answered, followed by murmurs: “Sure.” “Y-yeah.” “Of . . . of course.” There was even one whispered “Yes, mistress” from a guy Luci’s mesmerizing glance had obviously sent deep into some private submissive fantasy.

“Such good boys,” Luci praised them. “Just go on back to the party and have fun. I’ll be back, I promise.”

There were a few cheers, and the knot of masculinity crowding the doorway broke up as its constituent parts drifted back to the celebration, obeying Luci. They were such good boys for her. . . .

Luci took Walter back to the lounge she’d used with Brad. Sitting down on the same couch she’d used before, she patted a spot next to her. Walter took his cue and sat there.

“Now, Walter,” Luci said when he’d settled, “tell me, why are you here? What could your agency possibly think is going on here? You can tell me.”

Walter told her. When he finished, he sat quietly, staring into her eyes with adoration.

“Walter,” Luci said after a short while, “you find me attractive, don’t you? You want me.”

“Oh, yes,” breathed the government man.

“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you, if you could have me.”

“Anything.” Walter was panting now. “Anything.” His eyes slipped away from hers and scanned her body. The front of his trousers bulged.

Luci undulated out of her clothing while Walter watched. His mouth fell open, and a thin line of saliva began to drip down his chin. When she was naked, she slid over to Walter, who was lost in a haze of lust, and worked on his clothes as well. His body cooperated with her by sheer reflex, no thought involved. He was capable of no thought. His crucifix was useless; under Luci’s spell, he tossed it away along with everything else he had on. Luci hardly felt a twinge.

Finally she pressed herself against him, pinning him between her legs and wrapping him in her slender arms. Her hands pressed his face into her bosom, and he shuddered, his own arms clasping her desperately.

Several dynamite blasts of ecstasy later, he sagged against her, breathing raggedly.

“Walter?” Luci asked. “Are you awake?” She needed him awake, at least for a little while longer.

“Awake,” Walter agreed sleepily. His eyes were closed.

“Open your eyes, Walter,” commanded the succubus. “Open your eyes, look at me and listen carefully.”

Walter opened his eyes, looked at Luci and listened carefully. His face was drenched in slowly cooling sweat, but bore an utterly peaceful expression.

“That’s a good boy, Walter.” Luci smiled and ran a hand through the agent’s hair. “We need to get dressed now, Walter. We need to go back to the party. But before we do, I need you to agree to do something for me. You’ll do what I ask, Walter, won’t you?”

“Yes,” came the response. Walter gazed at Luci in worship. “What do you . . . need me to do?”

Luci stroked his hair again, matching the rhythm of her moving hand to that of his breathing. “I need you to tell your bosses in Washington that there’s nothing wrong here. Tell them everything is fine. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Walter answered. “I can. I will.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Oh, yes. I promise. . . .”

“Good boy, Walter,” the temptress said. “But from now on, if I ask you to do something for me, you’ll do it, won’t you? No matter what it is.” Luci had finally realized she didn’t really need trigger words to place a victim back under. A command like the one she’d just given would work perfectly.

“Yes,” answered Walter. “Whatever it is.”

Luci gazed at him with the sort of possessive fondness an animal trainer might show toward one of her charges. She was sure Walter would perform the tricks she’d taught him. Men always did.

“Then it’s time to get dressed, Walter, and rejoin the party.”

“Yes, Luci.” Walter began putting his clothes back on. So did Luci.

When Division Six operative had gotten his underwear, socks and pants on and had shrugged into his unbuttoned shirt, he reached down to pick up his pendant cross.

Luci hissed.

“No, Walter,” she said. “Not that. Don’t put that back on.” It hadn’t stopped her before, of course, but why take chances? Once again she regretted her new vulnerability to holy items. As Susan Jones, that hadn’t been such a problem.

Walter dropped the cross and straightened up. His hands went to his shirt to button it.

Luci had an idea. “Walter, I want you to believe you did put your crucifix back on. I want you to feel it against you. If you feel the need to take it out, I want you to see and feel it as if it were really there, unless I tell you it isn’t.”

“Yes, Luci.” Walter dropped the cross and straightened up. He began buttoning his shirt.

Luci waited until he was finished, then said, “Walter, did you remember to put your cross back on? It would be bad if you forgot it.” She batted her eyes at him. “Take it out and show it to me, please, Walter.”

The Division Six agent obeyed. He pantomimed drawing the chain out from under his collar and dangling the crucifix for Luci’s inspection.

Luci smiled at him, her eyes on his raised hand with its fingers clasped around empty air. “That’s just fine, Walter. You can put it away now.”

Again, Walter did as he was told. He acted out tucking his cross beneath his shirt, utterly unaware that it wasn’t really there. When he was done, he stood waiting for Luci to give him his next instruction.

Luci quickly dressed. When she was done, her clothes on and her hair smoothed into place, she addressed the waiting Walter once more.

“We need to get back to the party, Walter,” she informed him. “When we leave this room, I want you to act as you normally do. No one must know you are under my power, Walter. You know you’re under my power, don’t you, Walter? Of course you do.”

“Of course.” Walter’s voice was serene. “Under your power.”

“And no one must know,” Luci reminded him.

“No one must know.” Walter nodded.

“So you will act perfectly normally once we leave this room. You will tell no one what we did in here, and you’ll act just as you always do.”

“Yes.”

“And what will you do if I ask you to do something for me later?”

“Whatever you say. No matter what it is.” Walter gazed dreamily at Luci, seeking out her eyes, letting them pull him under deeper, deeper. It was wonderful to go deeper. . . .

Luci rubbed her hands together, gloating. The government agent would serve her unquestioningly now. She was his mistress, in more ways than one–his lover and goddess.

She linked arms with her newest tool and left the lounge.

The party was still going on.

Rita Hawkins didn’t like it. She had come here to help her employer Dr. Fatakis check out a disturbing possibility that Freedom Christian University was once more under demonic attack. So far, she’d seen no evidence it was true. She was growing restless. If there was no supernatural menace here, she and the Doctor might as well leave.

Not that everything was fine. She’d seen enough even before this evening to realize there was a growing drug problem on the FCU campus. And not just any drug, either: snooping around, she’d found out it was Nirvana. In her opinion, that so-called “party drug” was more dangerous than crack. People talked about people being “enslaved” by cocaine, but Nirvana was more than just addictive. Someone high on Nirvana would do or think anything he or she was told; obedience was rewarded with an incredible payoff of pleasure. And when it wore off, the memory of that pleasure remained.

She’d seen the little smiley-face tabs being passed around, and tonight she’d seen one used to turn a beautiful but prim librarian into a mindless nymphomaniac. It was a chilling demonstration. These days, technology could do things only magic could have managed once upon a time–and that technology was in the hands of human beings no more virtuous than those who’d summoned demons in the Dark Ages.

Her attention was drawn to the banquet hall’s entrance. A crowd seemed to be gathering as a couple came in.

Rita choked.

The woman was the most stunning creature she had ever seen, all tawny skin, lush curves and billowing dark-red hair. She totally eclipsed her male companion. No wonder men were drawn to her like moths to a flame.

She was totally, absolutely out of place here.

Rita had arrived late, then been distracted by the spectacle surrounding Christie Lowe’s erotic tabletop performance. She’d missed seeing Luci lure first Brad, then Walter, away. But now, every instinct screamed that this woman was the one she and the Doctor had come to find.

She looked familiar. After a moment, Rita realized why.

When she and Dr. Fatakis had come to Freedom Christian University five years before, they had realized Susan Jones was a succubus–but to defeat her, they’d needed to know her demon name. They’d finally found it in a video the egotistical erotic entity had recorded of herself with then-Dean Caleb Mather and the university’s founder and patron Reverend Charles Kellogg Bryer. Rita had found the demoness’s name mentioned near the end–but in fast-forwarding through the tape, she’d caught sight of the creature in a form which was neither that of Dr. Susan Jones nor of the demon Lilibat.

This woman was the one she’d seen. Rita was sure of it.

Luci saw the other woman’s eyes on her. She drifted casually over to Brad Connor, who was sitting in one of the folding chairs arranged along the walls, and bent over him. After a moment, she stepped away. Brad looked toward Rita and nodded.

Rita paid no attention to the coach. He was just a victim. As Luci walked away from him, Dr. Fatakis’ young aide moved toward her purposefully.

Suddenly, a strong hand closed on her arm. “Excuse me, miss,” a male voice said. “I need you to come with me.”

“What are you doing?” Rita was indignant as she twisted to face the man who’d grabbed her. It was the coach, the one the redhead had been speaking with.

Brad moved like a striking snake. He’d been holding a tab of Nirvana in his free hand, and while Rita’s mouth was still open, he brought it up and popped it into her mouth, then pinched her mouth closed with his fingers. It began dissolving immediately. Don’t swallow, she thought desperately.

But as the tab began melting, so did Rita. The drug soaked into her bloodstream through the soft lining of her mouth. After only a couple of seconds, she had relaxed enough to forget about not swallowing. Once she’d done that, the Nirvana began bubbling through her in earnest. The world softened in her vision. Everything was fine, just fine. . . . Her breathing shifted into a deep, even rhythm, as if she were fast asleep.

No one paid much attention. Rita, after all, was just another pretty girl zoned out on one of the smiley-face tabs, and there were plenty of those at the party.

Brad let her go. She stood quietly, arms at her sides, face calm. There was something she had to do, wasn’t there? Something important? She couldn’t seem to remember, and it didn’t matter.

Luci came over. The satanic seductress inspected Brad’s handiwork and gave a nasty chuckle. “Nice work,” she complimented him.

“Thank you,” he sighed. It was wonderful to do as this beautiful babe said. It was wonderful that she was pleased with him. He’d do anything for her to be pleased with him.

“Run along now, Brad, sugar,” she commanded. “Rita here and I have things to discuss.”

Smiling, Brad wandered off.

Luci turned her attention back to Rita, who was still standing meekly before her. “Oh, my dear,” the succubus gloated, “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.” She reached up and ran a hand lightly through Rita’s hair, dislodging a few strands from the neat bun in which she was wearing it. “Just come with me, dear.” She turned on her heels and headed for the exit.

Rita followed. After a few moments she began giggling softly, as the Nirvana rewarded her obedience with jolts of pleasure. It felt so good to do as she was told.

Luci didn’t take Rita back to the student lounge where she’d had Brad and Walter. No, she had bigger plans for her latest capture. She led the docile Ms. Hawkins outside to her car and ushered her in, then got in and drove off toward home.

Arriving at her apartment, she sat Rita down on her living-room couch and stood over her, one hand on her hip, the other cupping her chin in a pensive manner. “Let’s see, Rita dear, whatever shall I do with you? What would you like to do for me?”

By this time, Rita was floating in ecstasy. In Nirvana. “Anything,” she burbled. “Hee hee, ooh, I’d do anything. . . .”

“Of course you would, Rita sweetie. It feels so good to obey me, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes,” Rita babbled. “Yes. It feels so good. Obey. Yes. So goo-oood. ” Her eyes rolled in their sockets as she shuddered in delight.

“Then I’ll have to give you some orders to obey, won’t I, Rita sweetie?” Luci smirked. “I know just the thing to start. Why don’t you tell me where Dr. Fatakis is, and what his plans are.”

Rita told her, blurting everything out amid moans and gasps of delight as the drug in her system delivered its reward. Finally she ran down and sat slumped, head hanging, soaked in sweat. Beneath her clothes, her panties were soaking wet; in her ecstasy, she had come.

“Such a good girl, Rita,” Luci said. “Now I have a surprise for you.”

“A . . . surprise?” Still panting from her artificially-induced orgasm, Rita looked up.

“That’s right, Rita sweetie.” And Luci changed, flowing smoothly into her demon form.

“Lilibat! But . . . but you’re bad. Evil.” Despite her words, Rita’s voice remained soft and breathy, almost a coo.

“That’s right,” the demon-babe agreed. “I’m bad. I’m evil.” She smiled a wicked, triumphant smile. “And you want me. You want to go to bed with me. You want it so badly it makes your head spin. You can’t think about anything else right now, and you don’t want to. Isn’t that right, Rita sweetie?”

Rita whimpered. “Yes, oh, yes! Please. Please.” Without even being prompted, she got off the couch and went down on her knees, begging. “Please.”

“Then get up, Rita sweetie, stand up and come with me.”

Rita stood up. The she-fiend’s small neat hooves pranced silently across the carpeted floor and her barbed tail swished and coiled as she led the human woman toward the bedroom.

There was time enough to take care of the Doctor, now that she’d enslaved the person he trusted most in all the world. Tonight, though, she would take Rita.

Just as she’d promised herself, revenge was going to be a bitch.

Rita Hawkins swam slowly up from the depths of sleep. She broke the surface with a happy sigh and opened her eyes. She was relaxed, totally at peace.

Then memory returned.

“Oh, my God!” she screamed. “Oh, my GOD!” She leaped out of bed in a panic and ran for the door, forgetting she was naked. All she cared about was escaping that apartment.

Lilibat watched her, viciously amused. Just as Rita got to the hall door and reached for the knob, the she-demon spoke. “Stop, toy Rita.”

Rita froze. The knob was inches from her outstretched hand, but she couldn’t grasp it. She couldn’t move a muscle. Even her face was locked in the frightened expression she’d worn at the moment she’d heard the words.

Lilibat walked around her paralyzed plaything like a visitor to an art museum inspecting a sculpture. Rita, she saw, was absolutely immobile, her body obeying the command she’d been given.

“Well, well,” she said. “It really does work.” It wouldn’t last, if what she’d read was accurate; such commands gradually faded unless reinforced. But it would hold long enough. And if things went as she planned, Rita Hawkins would soon be permanently enslaved. After a few more tabs, she’d be desperate to obey.

“I’m going to release you in a moment, Rita sweetie,” she said in a voice like poisoned honey. “Before you dash out of here, though, perhaps you’d better get dressed? I won’t keep you here.

“Just make sure Dr. Fatakis is at his apartment this afternoon. If he isn’t, well . . . what if I were to find you, say the words to make you freeze like this, and then just leave you that way?”

Rita couldn’t move, couldn’t even whimper in fear. Her body knew only that it must remain absolutely still. She didn’t know that the temporary nature of the “freeze” command made the succubus’ ugly threat an empty one.

“Go, toy Rita.” The mockery in the demon-female’s voice was acid.

Rita burst into motion. Sobbing, she snatched up her clothes and threw them on under the hell-bitch’s gaze. Then she threw open the door and ran through it.

Demonic laughter followed her.

Lilibat changed form, becoming Luci Ferra again. She dressed in a tight white blouse, snug red jacket, matching short skirt and glossy black stilettos, deliberately provocative.

Several phone calls later, she set out for the FCU campus. She had unfinished business there.

Her first stop was the dean’s office. A quick stare into Greta Nordquist’s eyes and the starchy secretary was lost in la-la land, smiling vacantly and humming to herself. Hinton was in, and, she was pleased to note, a couple of sheets to the wind already. His bleary eyes brightened when he saw her, though.

Luci hung her jacket over a chair. “Good morning, Dean Hinton.” She smiled at him.

“Ms. Ferra,” he greeted her. “G’morning.” He put down the half-empty bottle in his hand.

She looked into his eyes and observed, “You’ve been a good boy, I see, Dean Hinton. You’ve been drinking, just as I told you to.”

“Y-yeah.” Hinton lost himself in her gaze, swimming eagerly down into the wonderful whirlpool of colors he saw. “Drinkin’. Like you said.”

“And have you and Greta been passing along the Nirvana tabs I’ve given you?”

“Yes. Sh-shurr. We’ve been passin’ ’em along, jus’ like you shaid. Said.”

Luci smiled. “And have you been using the tabs yourself, on Greta? You know they’ll make her do anything.”

Hinton blushed faintly. “Yeah. Sh-sometimes. She wants ’em now.” He turned a deeper red as he confessed, “Sometimes we play a game. I don’t give her one, an’ she tries to se-duce me into giving it. She always shuc . . . succeeds, o’ course.” He hiccuped and grinned a stupid grin.

Luci’s smile widened. By now, Ms. Nordquist would be so addicted she’d stand naked in the street selling her body, if that was what it took to get another tab–and she’d enjoy every minute of it, too, just from the thought of the high to come.

She thought of Rita Hawkins. Another few tabs and Rita, too, would be eager to do anything, willing to believe or feel anything, for another dose.

She looked at her watch. Another fifteen minutes should do it. She had time for a bit of fun.

Languidly, she reached for her shirt and began unbuttoning it.

Hinton gasped, his attention suddenly drawn away from her eyes. As she slithered out of her blouse, exposing her magnificent bare breasts, his jaw dropped.

The skirt went next, leaving Luci standing clad only in a tiny thong and her glossy spikes. Hands on hips, she swiveled back and forth to give Hinton a good look. He moaned happily.

Soon both of them were completely naked and writhing together on the Dean’s soft carpet. Hinton was simply an obedient mass of flesh, driven by reflexes and sensory stimuli. He hardly noticed when Luci shifted into her demon shape in order to use her tail on him, though he felt the rough, leathery barb sending shivers of ecstasy through his nervous system as it traced expertly up and down his back.

He was in the throes of his second orgasm when the office door banged open.

“Harlot of hell!” Mrs. Hinton spat. “Demon bitch! How dare you call to boast of what you were doing with my husband!”

Lilibat only smiled, rising to her feet.

“And you!” Tears rose in Mrs. Hinton’s eyes as she glared down at her husband. “Letting her practice her wiles on you!”

Lilibat addressed the Dean. “Practice makes perfect, doesn’t it, Joseph?” Hearing the devil-woman use her husband’s first name only made Mrs. Hinton angrier.

“Perfect,” Hinton sighed in answer, only slowly drifting back toward reality. “Yes. You’re perfect.”

That did it. With an inarticulate scream, Mrs. Hinton pulled out a gun. “I can’t stop her,” she sobbed, “but I can stop you!” She pointed the weapon.

“Margaret! No!” Dean Hinton was fully conscious now, and terrified. Still naked, he tried to stand up. As he did, he caught sight of Lilibat, and his body betrayed him: in an instant, he had a rampant erection.

That did it. Margaret Hinton pulled the trigger.

There was a loud, echoing bang, and Dean Joseph Hinton dropped. He was dead before he hit the floor, his heart pierced.

Mrs. Hinton looked at the body, then at the gun. Without another word, she put the muzzle in her mouth and fired again.

Lilibat surveyed the carnage calmly. As she watched, a ghostly form stood up over the corpse of Joseph Hinton.

To her dismay, it rose into the air, disappearing through the office ceiling. “Damn it!” she swore.

“I’m afraid not,” a familiar deep voice said. “Flawed though he was, Joseph Hinton was no Caleb Mather or Charles Bryer. Those Above have claimed him for their own. Remember, what he did under your power does not stain him, since it was not done freely.”

Lilibat turned and found herself facing her demon lord Asmodiel. He stood proudly nude, towering over her, as he continued, “But behold!”

He gestured toward the motionless form of Margaret Hinton. Lilibat followed his wave and saw a spectral edition of the Dean’s wife standing above her mortal remains. The phantom’s feet blended into the dead body.

It looked around for a few moments, a stunned expression on its face. Then it dropped out of sight, arms flailing upward and mouth opening in a silent scream.

“Murder and suicide,” pronounced Asmodiel. “And both carried out of her own free will. Your original compulsion, which forced her to contact the authorities, had nothing to do with this. She did it all herself. That you goaded her is not enough to excuse her sin.” He chuckled. “Our Mrs. Hinton will be warmly received Below.”

The two demons laughed together.

“Congratulations,” Asmodiel said. A mortal would have found his smile terrifying. “You have taken another soul.” He gazed on the succubus and added, “Each such capture adds to your credit in our realm, you know. In time, with enough souls taken, you will earn greater powers. In a few millennia, your abilities could even equal my own.”

“Something to look forward to,” Lilibat said, and the devilish duo laughed again.

Asmodiel sobered. “For now, I’ll take my leave,” he said.

“As you wish, Dark Lord,” responded Lilibat. She bowed her head before her hellish master.

Asmodiel nodded and vanished.

The succubus changed back into her human form and put her clothes on, then left the Dean’s office, closing the door gently behind her. Outside, Greta Nordquist was still at her desk. She was nodding, smiling and singing softly, “La-la-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la-la.”

Luci caught her gaze, and the secretary was instantly riveted. She went utterly still, a rabbit facing a snake.

“That’s a good girl, Greta,” said Luci. “Now listen to me very carefully. Listen, and do as I say.”

“Yes.” Greta nodded slowly. “Listen . . . very carefully. Do as . . . you say.”

“I’m leaving now,” Luci told her hypnotized subject. “As soon as I’m gone, you’ll forget I was here. In fact, you’ll forget you ever met me, and remember only if I tell you to. It’s all right to forget, Greta; you don’t need to remember about me, unless I ask you to. You’ll get up and go into Dean Hinton’s office.”

“Yes,” Greta sighed submissively.

“You will then awaken, fully alert–but remember, you must forget all about me, until I command you to remember!–and when you see what is in the Dean’s office, you’ll do what seems natural. Do you understand, and will you obey?”

Greta nodded again.

“That’s a good girl, Greta,” Luci repeated. Reaching into a jacket pocket, she pulled out a small packet of Nirvana tabs and handed them to the other woman. The spellbound secretary accepted them. “Consider these a reward.”

“Thank you,” murmured the bewitched blonde.

Luci turned and left the Dean’s reception area.

Greta blinked. What had she been doing?

There was something in he hand. Looking down, she saw it was a small zip-seal plastic bag containing a number of yellow smiley-face tablets.

What the–! Ms. Nordquist hurriedly stashed the bag in her desk. Can’t let just anybody see me with that stuff! She couldn’t seem to remember where she’d gotten that baggie. She puzzled over it for a second or two, then forgot about it. It was all right to forget; she didn’t need to remember.

But she’d been about to do something, hadn’t she? Oh, yes, of course–she needed to go into Dean Hinton’s office.

She walked in. Strangely, the Dean didn’t seem to be sitting behind his desk as usual. But she’d been sure he was in. . . .

She looked around.

Presently, when campus security arrived to investigate the screaming, they found her standing wide-eyed and white-faced over the carcass of the late Dean Joseph Hinton, with the body of his wife a few feet away.

The investigation quickly established that Greta hadn’t been responsible for the deaths. She hadn’t touched the gun Margaret Hinton had used; only the Dean’s wife had left fingerprints on it. Hinton himself had evidently had sex shortly before his death, but not with Mrs. Hinton–and not with his secretary, either, as tests showed when a shell-shocked Greta Nordquist allowed herself to be examined. Not until the following morning, however, would Ms. Nordquist finally be released from custody.

Meanwhile, Luci’s other phone calls did their work.

Frank Willis had been studying hard when his desk phone rang. He picked it up in irritation, prepared to give his caller a quick brushoff. He never got the chance.

“Frank?” It was a woman’s voice, sultry. “Frank Willis?”

The young man stiffened. He knew that voice! Memory flooded back: the summoning, and everything afterward. “Yes.”

“Do you know who I am, Frank?”

“Yes. Luci. Lilibat.” Frank’s voice was level. Prompted by her use of his name, Frank’s programming activated.

“Are you ready now, Frank honey, to obey me without question?” Luci’s voice had flowed from the phone sweetly, seductively.

“Yes. I will obey without question.” Frank was helpless, re-enslaved the moment he’d heard that voice. Luci Ferra and Lilibat might look and sound different, but Frank knew they were the same–and just as Luci had known, that awareness meant both voices held the same power over him. Both were the voice of his lover, his goddess. His mistress.

“That’s a good boy,” Luci said. “Now listen carefully, Frank honey. This is what you must do.”

Frank listened. When Luci finished, he nodded. “Yes, Luci. I understand.”

He hung up the phone.

Shortly he left his dorm room. His studies could wait. He had things to do. Places to go.

Jennie Morgan had been tidying her desk when the outside-call light flashed on her phone. She didn’t recognize the number on the digital display. She picked up the handset.

“Jennie doll,” the voice on the other end said, “I need you.”

“Yes, Ms. Ferra,” Jennie responded, falling happily into the warm place where there was only obedience. Since their first meeting, Luci had worked carefully on her, using her powers and the smiley-face tablets to train the bank clerk to complete slavery. The phrase “Jennie doll” now brought that training into play. “What must I do?”

Luci told her. Anyone watching would have seen nothing but a customer service person responding to a call; Luci had even instructed Jennie to call her “Luci” only when she couldn’t be overheard, and “Ms. Ferra” otherwise.

“Yes, Ms. Ferra,” Jennie responded when Luci was done. “Right away, Ms. Ferra.”

She got up from her desk and headed for the time clock. She needed to leave, right away. Luci needed her. And besides, she’d promised her another tab of Nirvana. Jennie would do anything for that.

Walter Karendren had been packing for his return for Washington when the phone rang in his hotel room.

“Who could that be?” he muttered. Not his superiors, surely; he’d already explained to them that he’d found nothing, and they’d ordered him back to headquarters. Baffled, he answered the call.

“Hello, Walter,” a rich feminine voice said. It seemed to coil out of the phone like thick aromatic smoke. “I need you to do something for me, just as we talked about. You will, won’t you, Walter?”

“Of . . . of course,” the Division Six operative stammered. Unlike others under the demon seductress’ power, he had no trigger phrase, but he didn’t need one. He had simply been instructed to do anything she asked, and Luci’s instructions were the highest authority he knew. “Please, just tell me what you want. Please.” That voice was beautiful, its owner was beautiful; obedience was beautiful.

Luci told him what he was to do. When she finished, he nodded. “Of course.”

He could return to Washington a little later. He had things to do here first.

Luci Ferra pranced gleefully across the lush carpet in her living room. It was all working out perfectly. Soon her mortal enemies would be her eager slaves, freeing her to extend her influence further.

Already she had taken a measure of revenge–destroying that fool Hinton and his priggish wife, turning Rita Hawkins into her puppet, spreading moral corruption through Freedom Christian University, which had been so smugly exploitive of her former human self. She’d even reclaimed dear, handsome, stupid Brad Connor.

And this was only the beginning, she promised herself. Once she had enthralled Dr. Fatakis and consolidated her grip on his assistant, the things she’d do . . . ! Her eyes blazed yellow as she imagined how she’d abuse and degrade the occult detective and his pretty girl Friday and make them beg for more, and how much more she could do to others.

But first things first.

Luci left her apartment, got into her car and drove across town toward the address Rita had given her. If the girl had obeyed orders, the Doctor should be there, and unaware of the trap about to close around him. Presently she arrived and parked.

Dressed in a tight knee-length sheath, white jacket, black gloves and black high-heeled pumps, and with her thick glossy red hair piled atop her head, she was an eyeful. Several men saw her as she got out of her car and made her way toward the main entrance of Fatakis’ apartment building; they stared, and a couple whistled.

As she had expected, Frank, Jennie and Walter were there, cooling their heels. She had commanded each of them to come here and wait for her to arrive. She had uses for them. At her gesture, they came over and fell into place behind her.

Luci felt one small twinge of dissatisfaction. Unfortunately, both Brad Connor and Tom Dennis had been away when she’d called them at the numbers they had given her. And she’d already arranged things for this afternoon; resetting her trap for a later time, just so all her pets could be present, was more trouble than it was worth. Dealing with the Doctor as soon as possible was more important than perfectly stage-managing his destruction.

The place Fatakis had made his base wasn’t as fancy as the Stafford Arms, but it was upscale enough to have a uniformed doorman. He whistled appreciatively as he saw her.

“What may I do for you, Miss . . . ?” He was the picture of professional politeness. Handsome, too. As she looked at Luci, he sucked in his gut and struggled to look as tall and ramrod-straight as possible.

“Luci Ferra, darling,” she answered, amusement in her voice. She caught his gaze and brushed one of his smoothly-shaven cheeks with a gloved hand. “Is there a Dr. Nicholas Fatakis residing here at present?”

“Uhhhh,” the doorman murmured, falling joyfully into her eyes. Then, in a dazed tone: “Let me check–yes, there is. . . . Suite 14A.” He blinked glassy eyes and asked, “Shall I . . . an-nounce you?” His expression pleaded for her to let him do her that favor. He fell deeper, deeper into her eyes, surrendering himself absolutely.

Luci stroked his cheek some more and answered, “No, darling, that won’t be necessary. Just let me and my friends here inside. Don’t tell him we’re coming; I want it to be a surprise. Please, you can do this for me, can’t you? Pretty please?” She fluttered her eyelashes, toying with him.

“Yes,” the uniformed man moaned. “Yes.” He turned and opened the door. Luci stepped through, followed docilely by the others. They had no idea what she was planning. All that mattered was to obey.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” Luci told the doorman, brushing his cheek a final time. “When we’ve gone up in the elevator”–she could plainly see the elevator bank down the hall–“I want you to forget we came here. When I come back down, I want you to let me out, along with anyone else I bring with me, and forget you saw us.”

“Yes,” came the response.

“As a reward, once I have left this building, you will experience a powerful sexy fantasy about me. It will be wonderful. You will lose yourself in this fantasy for at least fifteen minutes, and come at least once. When it’s over, you will remember it, and me–but you will remember me only as a fantasy, one you would do anything to meet in real life. You will not remember that you actually did meet me, or what I told you to do. Do you understand, darling?”

“Yes. Oh, yes,” the uniformed man breathed. “Thank you. . . .”

Smiling wickedly, Luci turned away and led her entranced entourage down the hall.

Five minutes later, they were standing in front of the door to Suite 14A. A fancy brass knocker was set into the door at about Luci’s eye level; she used it energetically.

A few moments later, the door opened. Rita Hawkins gasped faintly when she saw who was on the other side.

“Do let us in, Rita sweetie,” Luci cooed venomously. “And tell the Doctor he has visitors. Just don’t say who we are; I would hate to have to punish you.”

Rita made a small sound deep in her throat, then said, “Come in.” There was defeat in her eyes.

Luci stepped across the threshold, gloating. Her demon nature required her to obtain permission before entering any home, or any private building; she had been able to enter the First Union Bank and the Stafford Arms only because their lobbies, at least, were public places, and once in, she had “persuaded” people to grant her full access. It had been the same here; if there had been no doorman, she could not have entered the building even if the main door had been wide open–not without an invitation. And if Rita hadn’t yielded (but of course she’d had no choice), Luci and the rest would have been unable to enter Fatakis’ apartment.

“Dr. Fatakis,” Rita called out, “there are some people here to see you.”

“Thank you, Rita,” the Doctor’s voice answered from the next room. There was the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Thank you, Rita,” Luci repeated mockingly. “And as a reward . . .”

She brought out a little plastic bag. As Rita saw it, and what was in it, her eyes widened. She took half a step forward, and reached out.

She stopped.

“No,” she gasped. “I won’t. I, I mustn’t.”

“You will,” Luci disagreed. “You must. But first–stop, toy Rita,”

Just like that, Rita went still. Luci strolled over to her and took the Nirvana tab out of its bag. Using two fingers of one hand, she propped Rita’s mouth open, and with the other, she popped in the tab. She let go of Rita’s mouth and stepped away.

Just as she did, she heard a male hiss of dismay. “Rita!”

The demon seductress turned to face the man who’d sent her to Hell. “Don’t waste your breath,” she advised him. “She can’t help you this time.”

Fatakis struggled to keep from looking at her. He knew her power; even restrained by a pentagram, she had nearly taken him over last time. Even his mystical training hadn’t protected him enough. Only with Rita’s help had he escaped her clutches.

“Don’t bother fighting it, Doctor. Nicholas.” She made his name a caress. “You can’t resist me, you know that. No man can.”

“R-Rita,” Fatakis wheezed. “What have you . . . done to her? You can’t . . . !”

“Control her?” Luci laughed. “Not with my powers, no. My own blunder last time saw to that. But there are other means.”

She held up the empty baggie which had held the tab she’d put in Rita’s mouth. “Nirvana, Nicholas. As I speak, it’s flowing through her. You know how it works; she can do only what she’s told–and she will do whatever she’s told, and love it.” Luci smirked. “She set you up, you know. I ambushed her earlier, forced her to swallow a tab, and programmed her. This is her second dose; after this, she should be hooked for real.” The she-fiend’s eyes glowed. “And I’ll have you, as well. I don’t need the tabs for that, do I, Nicholas?”

“N-no-o-o,” Fatakis moaned, unsure whether he was trying to defy her or agree. Despite himself, he looked toward her, eyes roaming over the glamorous contours of Luci’s body.

“That’s right, Nicholas,” Luci coaxed. “Look at me. You like looking at me, don’t you? I’m so beautiful.” Her voice slid to a throaty purr. “There’s nothing wrong with looking, is there. Nicholas? Any man would, isn’t that right? Go ahead, look.”

Fatakis looked. His resistance crumbled as blood flowed away from his brain to regions lower down.

“Look into my eyes now, Nicholas,” came the command. “Yes, that’s right. Look into my eyes, and relax, and forget about resistance, forget about everything but me. Forget.”

“Forget. . . .” The Doctor’s voice was soft and dreamy as he looked into Luci’s eyes.

“Kneel, Nicholas,” the succubus commanded.

Dr. Fatakis knelt.

Luci reached down and stroked his head. Then she threw back her head and laughed wildly.

A moment later, she was Lilibat. She laughed again as she stood over the groveling form of her adversary.

It was perfect, she gloated. The man who’d sent her Below now knelt at her feet. The one mortal immune to her power stood passively waiting to obey any order she might give. The youth who had summoned her was her willing slave. She even had a government agent–she cast a smoldering glance at Walter Karendren–under her power, something with definite possibilities. And once the Doctor was broken, she could take her time with Tom, with Brad–with Jerry Chisholm, too, when she caught up with him. With everyone.

Her mind filled with visions of vixenish villainy, the succubus said, “Let the games begin!”

Nothing could stop her now.

It was getting late, Lilibat decided. After another quick shower, she became Luci Ferra again and got dressed. Then she woke the slumbering men and, with considerably more difficulty, Rita and Jennie; the two women were coming down, now, from their Nirvana high, and their bodies desperately wanted sleep. She got everyone dressed and herded them down in the elevator.

The doorman greeted her politely, but Luci noticed how his eyes roved over her. The programming she had installed in him was coming into play just as it was supposed to. Once they left, he’d forget she’d ever been here–except, of course, in the dream she had commanded him to have.

Luci Ferra led the people she owned outside, pausing only to issue a few brief instructions. Walter was to return to his hotel, collect his things and return to Washington. Frank was to go back to his dorm room and Jennie to her apartment. All were commanded to await further orders. “When you hear from me,” Luci told them, “you will obey without question. You will drop whatever you’re doing and follow my orders, because you’re devoted to me, aren’t you, and you’ll do anything for me.”

The answer came back in several voices: “Yes. Anything. Devoted to you.”

Luci nodded, satisfied. Even Jennie would obey, though she still needed the tabs to overcome what remained of her moral resistance. Walter and Frank would do absolutely anything for her, naturally–or should that be supernaturally? The redhead giggled at the play on words as it occurred to her.

As for Dr. Fatakis and Rita Hawkins, they were coming home with her. They were to be her personal servants, to wait on her hand and foot and perform any act it amused her to request of them. She suspected that in time, she wouldn’t even need her powers to control the Doctor. Properly encouraged, the submissive streak she’d uncovered in him would make him obey of his own free will. Rita could be handled with the drug. To judge from Jennie’s case, soon enough obedience would be automatic, at least in most things, even when she wasn’t on a high. And for those few commands she might try to refuse, Luci would need only to hold out a smiley-face tab, and Rita, ruled by her chemical cravings, would grab it and bolt it down. After that, there’d be no more silly thoughts of resistance.

Luci ushered the Doctor and Rita to her car. Smiling, they climbed in. Luci shut the passenger side door after them, got in herself, started the engine and put her hands on the wheel.

She was in the driver’s seat. And she intended to stay that way.

Craig Trumbull never knew what hit him. The moment Luci and her mesmerized companions moved out of sight of the hotel’s entryway, he found himself falling unstoppably into a fabulous erotic fantasy about her. The world around him faded away into a hot pink haze; all he saw was this incredible woman. Her image danced in his mind, wriggling and spinning, peeling her clothes away as she spun around a pole, long dark-red hair billowing. On and on the vivid daydream went, carrying him far, far away on a tidal wave of sexual hallucination.

Eventually the wave receded, leaving him gasping and exhausted, his clothing drenched with sweat and semen. Red-faced, he sneaked away from his post to cop fresh underwear and a clean uniform. He prayed no one had seen him.

Wow, he thought as he changed into crisp replacement trousers. What the hell was that? I never saw a babe like that in all my life! I’d do anything to meet someone like that!

He had no idea that he’d already done so.

“Ah, there you are, Nickie!” Lilibat’s use of that diminutive was one more jab at him. Sometimes she called him Nicholas, but more and more it was Nickie. Once, just once, he’d managed to protest. He shuddered at the memory; she’d punished him by looking deep into his eyes and regressing him to an infant’s mentality. His next clear memory was of sucking eagerly at a scarlet nipple. Even after she’d restored his adult mind, she’d made him continue nursing for a while, and commanded him to enjoy it. And so, of course, he had.

“Yes, Mistress Lilibat.” Fatakis stopped in front of the demon, who was sprawled on the soft cushions of her big living-room couch, resting on one elbow. In demon form, that was more comfortable for her than sitting, since it left her tail free. The sharply barbed appendage was draped over her leg now, twitching idly.

“Good boy, Nickie,” the she-devil said. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, Mistress Lilibat.” She’d ordered him to make preparations for a big party. He’d even been instructed to purchase costumes for himself and Rita: a tuxedo for him, something sexier for his former aide. The demon-woman had handled the invitations herself, summoning the rest of her slaves–even Walter Karendren had been ordered in from Washington, D.C., to attend–and arranging for a number of influential people to come. As far as any of them knew, it was simply a social event, hosted by a rising star in local society–but by the time they left, all of them would belong to her.

“Oh, goody!” The sensuous siren clapped her hands.

Fatakis shivered. When Lilibat put on that little-girl air, it meant she had something particularly nasty in mind.

He was right. Lilibat called out, “Rita sweetie, are you ready yet?”

“Yes, Mistress Li-li-bat,” came a breathy voice. Rita Hawkins’ old acquaintances would hardly have recognized it as hers; it sounded more like Marilyn Monroe as Lorelei Lee in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

“Then come on out, sweetie, and let’s have a look at you.”

Rita came out. Fatakis’ jaw dropped.

His ex-assistant was dressed in a fetish French maid’s costume: tiny black miniskirt under a skimpy white apron, fishnet stockings, glossy black pumps with six-inch spike heels, all topped off with a little white cap nestled in her dark hair, which was bound up in a large bun. Fatakis felt himself go rock-hard. A small moan leaked from him.

“You like?” Rita turned this way and that, posing with a sexy smirk on her face.

She wasn’t just acting, Fatakis knew, going through the motions like a puppet the way he was at the moment. Lilibat had taken savage delight in destroying Rita’s mind. She’d used the control provided by the little smiley-face tablets to strip away the young woman’s education, intellect and morals, leaving her a nymphomaniac exhibitionist who had to struggle with any word over two syllables. And unlike him, she was never permitted to have her own mind back.

“He likes,” Lilibat assured her. “Isn’t that right, Nickie? Tell the truth, now.”

“Oh, yes,” he whimpered. “Oh, yes.” It was true, God help him, it was true–but through the haze of pleasure and desire rising from his groin, Fatakis felt a dull horror. She couldn’t be going to . . . !

She was.

Gleeful malice in her voice, Lilibat commanded, “Look into my eyes, Nickie dear. That’s it, look at me, look into my eyes, drown in my eyes once more. It’s so good to sink into my eyes, drown in my eyes, isn’t it, Nickie?”

“Yes. . . .” Fatakis’ voice was low and dreamy. His body had obeyed the command to look into Lilibat’s eyes, and when it did, her power had drawn him under once more. Gone were the anger, the disgrace he’d felt before; everything was gone but those beautiful eyes and the beautiful voice that went with them, the voice which told him what he must do and think.

The she-fiend flowed off the couch in a single sinuous movement. Standing, she stroked her slave’s cheek and murmured, “Rita’s very sexy in that outfit, isn’t she?” She laughed. “You don’t remember, of course, but in one of our little talks since you came to live with me, you told me this French maid fantasy of yours about Rita. You never even allowed yourself to think about it before, did you, Nickie? Never knew it was in there, in your head, until I brought it out. Aren’t you glad I did?”

“Yes,” mumbled the dazzled doctor. “Thank you.”

“So disciplined. So controlled,” murmured Lilibat. “But now it’s my discipline. My control. Both of you are under my control.”

She turned to Rita and handed her a yellow tablet. Rita swallowed it, and within moments, although her eyes stayed open, her breathing had fallen into a sleeper’s rhythm.

“Rita,” she instructed the brunette, “I want you to have sex with Nickie here. I want you to play out your little French-maid role, that you’re dressed for, and take Nickie, right here. You’ll do that, won’t you? Of course you will, because you know how it makes you feel to obey. You’ll act the role, and get into it completely; you’ll forget you’re acting. You will be the French maid. Do you understand?”

“Oooh, oui, Maitresse Li-li-bat,” Rita breathed. “I weel be ze Franch maid, an’ have ze sex weeth Neeck-o-las.” Already she was embedded in the part, and her obedience was being rewarded; her breathing changed again, going fast and sharp. Lilibat was amused that despite having been dumbed down, the girl automatically pulled French words and a French accent out of her subconscious in response to her suggestion.

“Go ahead, then,” Lilibat commanded. “Nicholas won’t mind. He wants it, don’t you, Nickie dear?”

“Unnhhhhh. . . .” Nicholas’ mouth fell open again.

“Ooo,” cooed Rita. “Now zat’s what I like to hear.” She oozed toward Fatakis and struck a pose, knees bent and hands crossed below her outthrust bosom.

The Doctor’s hands came up, cupping Rita’s breasts. A deep sigh escaped from him.

“Zat’s right, Neeck-o-las,” the girl continued. “Don’t stop.”

Fatakis took hold of the apron Rita wore and eased it over her head. She helped him, straightening up and raising her arms to let the garment slip off freely. It fell to the floor, forgotten, as Rita reached for Nicholas’ shirt.

Moaning softly, the two of them sank down, continuing to undress each other. Rita murmured French-accented sweet nothings to the man she didn’t remember as her former employer. Nicholas, lost in lust, no longer cared that the woman before him had once been his assistant. He no longer cared that Lilibat was looking on. All that mattered to him–to either of them–was pleasure.

Neeckolas–no, Nicholas, he reminded himself, Nicholas!–opened his eyes.

A few seconds passed before he realized where he was: on the floor in Lilibat’s lush living room, the dark-haired bimbo who had once been his highly educated aide in his work as an occult investigator nestled against him. As he stirred, she sighed, opened her eyes and giggled.

“Oooo,” she cooed, “zat was fun, wasn’t it, Neeck-o-las. Want to do eet again, m’sieu?” Her hand reached down and caressed him intimately, forcing a moan from his lips.

Lilibat intervened. “Maybe later, Rita sweetie.”

“Oui, Maitresse Li-li-bat,” came the response. Rita got obediently to her feet, shivering with pleasure as the Nirvana still in her system rewarded her again.

“You can stay in character as the French maid, if you like. In fact, I order you to.”

“Yes!” The pleasure had Rita writhing now. For a moment, it jolted her out of the fantasy–but only for a moment. “Oui! Oooo-eeeeee!” Rita went rigid, legs apart and head thrown back, as a wave of ecstasy crashed over her. Afterward, she stood silently, head hanging.

“You may go now, Rita sweetie,” directed the demoness. “Sleep, if you need to.” Soon enough, Lilibat knew, the girl would need to sleep, as the last of the tab she’d been given wore off. “Just be sure to be up, washed and dressed by seven tonight. We’re having guests, remember.”

“Oui, maitresse,” Rita responded. She bent over, collected her cast-off costume, and walked away, still nude.

Lilibat turned back to the stunned Nicholas Fatakis. “Perhaps I’ll make her French maid persona permanent. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, ‘Neeck-o-las?'”

Fatakis was powerless. “Yes, Mistress Lilibat,” he whispered.

“Then earn it,” the demon-woman demanded. “Look into my eyes, Nicholas, that’s right, look, and relax, it feels so good to look into my eyes, and relax, so good. . . .”

There were more words, but Fatakis didn’t hear them, at least consciously. Looking into Lilibat’s eyes, he fell headlong into a swirling maelstrom of beautiful colors and wonderful sensations.

“You know what I want, Nicholas,” the demon of lust said. “Come to me!”

He came to her.

Under her spell, he clutched her to him, toppling the two of them onto the couch. Her tail curled around to his back, its point skillfully stroking the spinal nerve centers she’d learned about, and he shuddered and thrust into her. Even if he hadn’t been under her supernatural sway, those cunning caresses would have rendered him helpless, a thing of mindless male meat. As it was, they drove him into a frenzy. Despite his sexual workout with Rita only a short time earlier, he went hard immediately and pounded away. When he finally came, he screamed her name.

His next awareness was of elegant hands stroking his hair and a magnificent voice saying, “Good boy, Nicholas; good boy. Now go get washed up and rest for a while. I want you fresh when it’s time to set up for my little party.”

“Yes, Mistress.” It was a happy sigh. For the moment, at least, Fatakis drifted in a place where there were no thoughts of his slavery, and it was so good to drift there. . . . He stood, gathered his clothes and left.

Watching him, Lilibat could not suppress a sinister chuckle. Victory was sweet indeed. Nicholas awoke in the small room Lilibat had assigned him as quarters–a large closet, really, with a mattress on the floor. Rita had similar accommodations. In moments of clarity over the past weeks, he’d suspected that if the demon had had horse stables, he and Rita would have been sleeping there.

No such bitter notions crossed his mind now. He was still drifting in his happy place. All he knew was that his beautiful mistress needed him dressed and ready, needed him to help set up the party she was giving. It was so wonderful to help her. Just the memory of their lovemaking made his head spin pleasantly, and if he helped her, there would be more. He would do anything for that.

He made his way into the suite’s lavish kitchen and began the final preparations.

Rita woke in darkness. For just a moment, she felt a stab of fear. Something was wrong, something bad was happening. She tried to think, tried to remember. . . .

No. There was nothing wrong. Mistress Li-li-bat needed her.

Giggling vacuously, she got up. The closet she slept in held various costumes, including several sexy maid’s outfits. She put one of those on, finishing up with a frilly little cap and glossy black pumps with six-inch heels.

“Neeck-o-las weel love me in zis,” she murmured, slipping automatically into character in obedience to Lilibat’s post-narcotic directive. She had no memory of the life she had once led; under sway of the succubus’ suggestion, she believed she really was a sexy French maid. It wouldn’t last, of course, without reinforcement–but Lilibat intended to reinforce it, over and over.

Rita didn’t know any of this. If she had been told, she wouldn’t have cared. All that mattered was serving Maitresse Lilibat, who had the glorious yellow tablets which rewarded obedience.

The party promised to be a hit.

Transformed into her human persona of Luci Ferra, the demon-babe looked over the celebration and found it good. It filled the two largest rooms in her luxurious suite at the Stafford Arms hotel, and spilled over irregularly into other parts of the apartment. And all her favorite toys were there: Nicholas, of course, dressed in a handsome dark suit; Rita in her skimpy maid’s dress and apron; Jennie Morgan, her boss Peter Hardesty and his cute systems man Aaron Lieber; Brad Connor; Tom Dennis; Greta Nordquist; Ned Braithwaite and Paula Petrosino–Ned, Luci noticed, had somehow neglected to bring his wife along. Walter Karendren had flown in from DHS headquarters in Washington. And of course, the young man to whom she owed it all, Frank Willis. A number of local notables were in attendance as well, including Mayor George Constable and his friend the district attorney, Harrison Sayle. There was even a congressman, Representative Nelson Schindler. Luci smiled wickedly as she spotted him.

The refreshments looked very good, she noted approvingly. Nicholas had done a very good job in making those arrangements–all the more so considering it wasn’t really his kind of work. Under her power, though, he had dedicated himself to the task.

The festivities had been underway for most of an hour when Tom approached her, an apprehensive look on his face. “I need to speak with you, Ms. Ferra,” he said.

Luci frowned. Now why was Tom suddenly not on a first-name basis with her? Well, no problem. “Of course, Tom sweetie,” she purred. “Come with me. Let’s talk in private.”

She led him into the bedroom. “There,” she decided. “This should do nicely.” Turning to face the tall blond man, she went on, “Now Tom sweetie, what was it you wanted to say to me?”

“Um, uh, er,” Tom Dennis stammered. He seemed to be having trouble marshaling his thoughts. “Er, it’s like this. I . . . I really can’t . . . I can’t go on with our, um, financial arrangement.” He shivered.

Luci smiled. So Tom was trying to back out of the deal they’d made which switched her from the short end to the long one in their eighty-twenty split of the money from the Nirvana sales she–and now her slaves–made? Naughty boy!

“I don’t see any reason to change the terms of our little partnership, Tom,” she told him.

“But I–” Tom blinked and swallowed hard. “I want–!”

Words failed him as Luci’s conditioning took full effect. The last time they’d been together, she’d “persuaded” him to make her the senior partner in his Nirvana trade by plunging him into her trademark trance of sexual ecstasy. While he’d been under, she had ordered him to feel the same way again any time he tried to disagree with her. It was obviously working.

“You want what, Tom sweetie?”

“Uh, duhh,” Tom blathered. “Nhhh, ooohhh–!” He stumbled blindly toward Luci, shaking with lust and pleasure. She reached out casually and stopped him with one finger.

Luci giggled. “Poor, dear Tom. You really are a sucker for me, aren’t you?”

Tom moaned.

Luci giggled again, and peeled her blouse off over her head in one graceful motion. That phrase was another trigger she’d planted in him. The drug dealer was lost now in a state as far from reality or self-control as any his little pills could produce. Her breasts, freed of the restraint imposed by her tight white blouse, bobbed freely; she hadn’t bothered with a bra.

“Oooogh,” came from Tom. Drooling slightly, he stared at her chest, transfixed by the gentle motion of its large, soft globes.

“Now Tom,” Luci said in a teasing tone, “what was it you wanted again? You wanted me to take all the money?”

Tom nodded vigorously, eyes staying on her bosom. “All. Yes. Please. T-t-take it all off–I mean take it all.” He whimpered. “All the money. Please.”

“Why Tom, how sweet,” the satanic seductress cooed. “But no, I’m perfectly with our present setup. Just as long as you remember who’s in charge. Who’s in charge, Tom?” As she spoke, she moved closer, until the two of them were mere inches apart.

“You–ooooh!” Tom spasmed in ecstasy as he babbled his submission. “You are! You’re in charge! Yes! Yes! Y-ymmphh. . . .” His words cut off as Luci’s hand slid around to press against the back of his head, forcing it down until his open mouth pressed against her erect nipple. Regressed instantly, he sucked, all thought banished from his head.

Luci drew him to her. “There, that’s right, Tom, that’s all right, suck, you’re a sucker for Luci, you’ll do whatever she wants, yes, good boy. . . .” Her own breathing quickened as his lips working at her breast sent pleasure jolting through her.

Yes, this was going to be a great party. Luci’s disappearance with Tom left Nicholas Fatakis free–as free as he ever was these days, anyway. And despite all he’d endured, despite the growing temptation he felt to submit completely, he still had enough of his own mind left to make one last try at defeating his demonic mistress.

He had one chance.

Something the succubus had said back when she’d ambushed Rita and him at his apartment had given him an idea of how to defeat her–but she’d taken control of them too quickly for him to try it. And since then, he hadn’t been able to; he needed her young conjurer for it to work. Now, here he was.

It was now or never.

Nicholas turned to Frank and asked carefully, “You’re the one who brought Lilibat to the mortal plane, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Frank replied happily.

“So,” the occult detective said, leaning toward Frank conspiratorially, “what did you get from her when you summoned her? What wish did she grant?”

“I-I don’t understand,” faltered Frank.

“You must know,” Fatakis said, “she’s bound to perform at least one task for you in exchange for her freedom from Hell.” Suggestively: “Anything at all–as long as it’s within her powers. And with a demon, that covers a lot of ground.”

“I never thought of it,” the younger man confessed. Why hadn’t he? Frank remembered looking into the sexy she-demon’s eyes, and sighed. Oh, yes. That was why. He’d had much more important things on his mind.

“Would you like a suggestion?” Fatakis had Frank’s full attention now. “You know that unlike many other demons, Lilibat used to be human, right?”

Frank nodded. “Yes, I remember her saying something about that once.”

“Yes.” Fatakis nodded as well. “A history professor by the name of Susan Jones, right at FCU.”

“Yes, that’s right. What are you getting at?” For no reason he could put his finger on, Frank felt faintly frightened.

Fatakis read his apprehension and said soothingly, “Nothing harmful, nothing dangerous, I assure you. Something simple.” He smiled. “Now here’s my idea. . . .”

Frank listened. When Fatakis finished, he grinned. “Sure, why not?” It was an hour or so before the succubus returned. Despite the food available, guests were getting pretty well lubricated, just as she’d planned. They’d be even easier to seduce and enslave with their minds already fogged by booze.

She had changed into Lilibat again while toying with Tom, and when she came back out, she didn’t bother to resume human form. The sight of her in demon shape, nude, scarlet, horned and tailed, provoked a startled reaction.

“Hey, what is this?” That was from the Mayor.

“Nothing to worry about,” responded the fiendish female. She caught his gaze, and his face went slack.

“Nuh,” he mumbled, “nothing . . . to worry about.” He stared at her, his breath quickening.

“That’s right, honey.” Lilibat broke eye contact with him, and swept her hypnotic gaze around the room. Most people received no more than a glance, but for those who’d never experienced it before, it was stunning. The room fell into stupefied silence. “Nothing to worry about.”

After a few seconds, Fatakis managed to speak. “Now, Frank. Ask her; go ahead.”

Lilibat turned, raising one eyebrow. “Ask me what?”

“You told me once that you used to be human,” Frank answered.

“Yes, that’s true,” Lilibat said. “What of it?”

“And is it also true,” Frank went on, “that as the one who called you to Earth, I have the right to one request from you?”

“Yes, it’s true,” Lilibat answered again, a slightly wary note in her voice this time. What did the boy have in mind?

Frank drew a deep breath. “Then I claim that request now.”

Lilibat nodded. “Very well.” She looked into Frank’s eyes, and smiled as his face went slack and a swelling grew in his trousers. “Nothing to harm me, of course. You don’t want to harm me, do you, Frank honey?”

“Nuh–no,” Frank mumbled, eyes wide and blank. “Don’t want to . . . harm you.”

Lilibat relaxed. “Then make your request, Frank, and by so doing, complete the contact between us, binding your soul forever.” Frank swam languidly up from the depths of Lilibat’s beautiful eyes. There was pleasure; as he stared at her naked form, his body shuddered in sudden climax. Then it was over, and the world returned. “Your request, Frank,” Lilibat reminded him, tapping one small hoof impatiently on the floor.

“Uh–oh, yes.” With an effort, Frank composed himself. He had to struggle to remember what he’d been about to ask for. “I want you to show me what you looked like when you were human. Become Dr. Susan Jones for me. That’s what I want.”

Lilibat smiled, flicking her tail carelessly. “Is that all? Very well, Frank honey.” Her body began to flow. . . .

“No!” The cry was shot through with pain and fear. “No! What’s happening to me? What have you done?” The she-demon’s mouth opened in a scream. “Take it back! Take it BAAAACCKKKK. . . .” Lilibat’s sensuous voice rose to a shrill scream, then died away.

As Frank Willis and Dr. Fatakis watched, Lilibat collapsed to the floor, her gorgeous body crumbling. Within less than a minute, all that remained was dust.

Fatakis, with his occult-trained eyesight, saw what no one else in the room could. For a few seconds, a translucent specter of the satanic seductress stood over the powdery remains of her material body. Then, a snarl of fury on its face, it plunged out of view through the floor.

“I don’t understand,” Frank Willis whispered. “What happened?”

“It’s simple enough,” Fatakis replied. “You asked her to ‘become Dr. Susan Jones’ for you. Remember how I told you to ask for that, in just those words?”

“Yes,” responded Frank. “But why did”–he gestured at the pile of dust which was all that remained of his demon mistress–“that happen?”

“Again, it’s simple.” Fatakis, too, glanced at the dust pile. “When Lilibat was exorcised last time from the human form of Dr. Jones, she left a mortal body which had been almost entirely subsumed into her demonic form. Dr. Jones died immediately–there was nothing anyone could do–and crumbled away, just like that, leaving no corpse for anyone to find.”

“So when I asked her to–!” Frank’s mouth dropped open.

“Exactly.” Fatakis smiled, a real smile, his first in weeks. “She became Susan Jones–exactly as Dr. Jones is now. Ashes to ashes,” and his smile grew fierce, “dust to dust.”

“Is she–dead?”

“No.” Fatakis’ smile faded. “Nothing can kill a demon. Destroying her physical body while she was outside of a summoning pentagram simply broke her connection to the mortal plane. In effect, it exorcised her, sent her back Below where she belongs.”

“But . . . I’m free, aren’t I?” Frank rubbed his head. “Free from her control, I mean.”

Fatakis nodded. “Yes. We all are. The moment she was forced out of our world, everyone she’d enslaved was released.”

“You tricked me,” Frank realized. “You didn’t tell me what would happen, because you knew she’d forbid me to wish for anything which could harm her. Since I didn’t know what my request would do, that didn’t stop me.”

Fatakis looked at him calmly. “Would you prefer it had? Would you rather she was still here?”

Frank shuddered. “God, no!” He closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. “Now that she’s gone, it gives me the creeps to think of her. Of what she did–what we did. It’s terrifying to remember how I did anything she wanted, how she made me beg to serve her.”

The young man made hand-washing motions. “I feel . . . stained. What can I ever do, to be clean again?”

Dr. Fatakis spoke reassuringly. “It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Willis. From what she bragged, you didn’t realize you would actually call up a demon with that ritual. And once you did, you were easy prey for her powers.” The occult investigator closed his eyes in pained remembrance. “So was I, despite my training. No man can resist her for long. You’re not the only one to feel tainted.”

He looked around the room. The others present wore shocked expressions. Her face nearly as red as Lilibat’s had been, Rita Hawkins glanced back and forth, first at the Doctor, then at Jennie. Jennie looked back at her, the bank clerk’s dark skin flushed to a deeper shade. Peter Hardesty and Aaron Lieber were horrified; freed of the she-demon’s influence, both feared for their careers if what they had done for Luci Ferra became known. Walter Karendren’s face suggested he was harboring similar thoughts.

Brad Connor sank weakly into a chair. “Not again,” he whispered. “Not again. . . .” He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. Fatakis’ words to Frank were no comfort to him. He thought of himself as a strong man, and a godly one–yet unlike the others, he had been conquered not once but twice.

Even those Luci/Lilibat hadn’t yet taken, like Mayor Constable and District Attorney Sayle, were in shock. They’d just seen something out of a horror movie acted out right before their eyes.

Sayle gathered himself. “What in the name of God–!”

“God,” countered Fatakis, “had nothing to do with it.” Briefly, he outlined Lilibat’s history for those not yet aware of it.

When the supernatural sleuth was finished, the district attorney shuddered and said in a shaky voice, “It’s insane–but I saw what I saw. And when she looked at me, just before,” he hesitated, “the end, it was like the whole world disappeared into her eyes, and I felt . . .” He reddened, and his voice trailed off. It was several seconds before he finished. “I never felt anything like that.”

Several of the others murmured agreement. Even one quick glimpse into Lilibat’s hypnotic eyes had plunged them into a happy fog. Remembering that now scared them.

“What do we do now?” That was from Congressman Schindler. “We can’t just pretend this never happened.”

“I don’t see why not.” Fatakis’ voice was cool and confident. With Lilibat gone, he had recovered a measure of his self-confidence. “At least for public consumption. Some of us,” he looked over at Hardesty and Lieber, then at Ned Braithwaite and his secretary Paula, “may have some loose ends to tie up, but I don’t see that as impossible.”

He sighed. “The hardest part will be dealing with our personal memories of all this. I wish I could offer help in that regard.”

Fatakis faced Rita Hawkins.

“Neeck-o-las?” Rita was still in character, accent and all. “What ‘as ‘appened, Neeck-o-las?”

“Rita?” Fatakis reached out to grasp his assistant by the shoulders. “Rita, it’s okay. She’s gone. Shake it off, girl.”

“Shake w’at off, m’sieu?” The brunette blinked wide, innocent eyes at him.

And he knew. The Doctor’s heart sank.

It was the drug, that damnable Nirvana. He and the others had returned to their normal selves immediately because their condition had been due to Lilibat’s supernatural spell. Rita was different. The succubus had known she was immune to that, and had used the smiley-face tablets to gain control of her instead. The commands the hell-bitch had given her while she was under the chemical’s influence were still in place–even the kinky servant personality she’d been instructed to adopt. Lilibat’s off-hand order that she stay in that role had locked it into place.

“It’s not hopeless,” a voice behind him said. Turning to face its owner, he saw it was the man Lilibat had introduced as a government agent. What was his name–yes, Walter Karendren. That was it.

“No?”

Walter shook his head. “No.”

He went on, “My agency has an experimental treatment program for victims of Nirvana and other such poisons. I don’t think I’d have any trouble getting your lady friend enrolled.” At Fatakis’ look of relief, he warned: “There are no guarantees, you understand. We can break the physical dependency, but beyond that, undoing the psychological craving, not to mention the programming she was given–well, I don’t know. We can only try. That creature did a real job on her.” He sighed. “If we had a non-addictive version of the drug to use, it would be a lot easier–but we don’t.”

Fatakis swallowed painfully. “Do what you can for her, then. She didn’t deserve this.”

A new voice spoke up, that of Brad Connor. “Is it over, then?” The coach had pulled himself together and was standing again. “Can we get out of this damned place?” He was carefully not looking at the spot on the floor where a small pile of ashy dust marked the second banishment of Lilibat.

“Yes,” Fatakis answered nodding.

“Good,” Connor grunted. Without another word, he headed for the door. Almost immediately, the others followed.

EPILOGUE:

Frank Willis dropped out of Freedom Christian University. With the departure of Lilibat, her command that he forget the ritual he’d used to summon her lost its grip along with all the others. Despite himself, he is frequently tempted to use it again. He has taken to prayer to battle this urge, and lives in constant fear of going to Hell when he dies. He dreams erotic dreams of his former demon mistress often.

FCU itself folded in the wake of the Hinton murder-suicide, the second major scandal to rock the fundamentalist college.

Dr. Nicholas Fatakis retired from his career as an occult investigator. Lilibat’s manipulation of his darkest impulses had shaken him badly. After doing what he could for his former assistant, he left the United States for Nepal, where he is rumored to be studying and meditating under the guidance of an ancient monk at a monastery high in the Himalayas.

Walter Karendren returned to his duties at the Department of Homeland Security, Division Six. True to his word, he arranged for Rita Hawkins to undergo treatment for her Nirvana addiction. Presently, he transferred from field agent status to administration, and is now in line for a position as assistant to the deputy director of Homeland Security.

Rita Hawkins “graduated” from Division Six’s treatment regimen after about a year. As Agent Karendren had promised, she was freed of her physical addiction to Nirvana. Her psychological cure was less successful. Although it proved simple enough to decondition her out of her “French maid” role, a complete restoration of her former intelligence and personality could not be achieved. Eventually she became an exotic dancer, undergoing breast enhancement surgery and adopting the stage persona of Gigi Galore, complete with French accent. She remains haunted by the memory of the pleasure she experienced while on the tabs.

Jennie Morgan, Peter Hardesty and Aaron Lieber returned to work at First Union Bank as if nothing had happened. They never spoke of Lilibat or Luci Ferra again. Two years later, Aaron Lieber resigned from his position and emigrated to Israel, where he became prominent in a small but influential religious political party. After his departure, a routine bank audit uncovered evidence of the tampering he’d done on Luci Ferra’s behalf; the Israeli government, however, refused to extradite him.

Tom Dennis was gunned down by a hitman employed by his Nirvana suppliers when he was unable to account for over a half-million dollars in profits from the drug. The assassin caught up with him as he was about to board a plane to Bolivia.

Brad Connor, Greta Nordquist, Ned Braithwaite, Paula Petrosino, DA Harrison Sayle, Mayor George Constable and Representative Nelson Schindler resumed their normal lives. All of them did their best to repress all memory of the bizarre events they had witnessed.

Lilibat is in Hell with her master Asmodiel, awaiting her next summoning. Even if Frank Willis never yields to temptation, a number of written copies of the incantation remain in existence on Earth, waiting to be found and used.

THE END