A Succubus Hunts Ch. 03

Author's note: This story contains themes of corruption, mind control, and non-consent. As always, let me know if you have any comments, suggestions, or questions, and thanks for reading!

A screaming whistle erupted from the kitchen. Amy tucked her change of clothing under an arm, threw open the door, and stepped out into chaos.

"Yer wastin' all o' the hot water!"

She pressed herself against the wall and slid past Jim as he began pounding on the loose wooden door which rattled loudly against its frame, drowning out whatever reply Xavier had given. The hall opened up into a small room with chipped tile flooring, peeling floral wallpaper, and a small kitchenette tucked into one corner.

"What?! I can't 'ear yeh!"

Amy scooped the kettle up and turned off the burner with her elbow, hovering next to the stove for a moment to enjoy the temporary warmth. A rivulet of toothpaste was dribbling down her chin, and shifting the brush's position in her mouth only made it worse. She glanced around the room, but the cabin's only table and the limited counter space was entirely covered by tools, metal parts, paper, books, clothes, and the junk one accumulated while traveling. Amy shrugged, threw her sweater down, and placed the kettle on top. She resumed brushing as the bathroom door opened and Xavier emerged, followed by a curtain of steam.

"It's your turn to go last mate."

"Tae fuck it is, hae some respect for yer elders."

Jim shoved past him and disappeared into the bathroom. Xavier turned as the door slammed closed and called back, "We're nearly out of food."

"Then go buy some, I ent yer keeper."

Xavier turned and raised an eyebrow at her. She smiled back, as best she could with a toothbrush between her teeth, and willed her gaze not to drift lower. He was wrapped in only a towel, and his muscled chest and abdomen were on full display. She couldn't help but recall her dreams the night before. Vague half-remembered scenes bubbled to the surface. Her, Xavier, and Gwen. All together. Suddenly the stove's dwindling heat felt like an inferno. Before she could dwell on the images, a scratching at the window announced Tattie's arrival.

The plump orange cat glared at her, his scowling face distorted by the ancient foggy glass. She unlatched the window, and he tugged it open himself with a single hooked claw and lept to the floor before turning his nose up at her and trotting past without a glance. Fair enough, the cabin had been his home before any of them had arrived. Cold air followed him in and goosebumps broke out along her arms. She shut the window and spat into the kitchen sink.

"I swear he's gotten at least 30% more Scottish since we got here."

Amy listened for the sound of running water, then half-whispered, "You don't think he heard us last night, do you?"

"Nah, the old man could sleep through an air raid"

Xavier moved closer, took hold of her waist and pulled her into him. She tilted her head up to meet his eyes. It was nice being with someone taller than her. He leaned in and began nibbling at her neck. Amy ran a hand along his back, tracing the subtle ridges of his latissimus dorsi. Privacy in the cabin was hard to come by, and she savored moments like this.

The house was a stone walled, grey roofed cottage set against the edge of a dense forest that encircled the castle grounds. It was rustic, charming, and with three people and one cat living there, incredibly cramped. Intended for only one occupant, it was smaller than her apartment. Just a small bedroom, a joined kitchen/living room, and had only a single bathroom, unless you counted the outhouse, which Amy did not.

It had once been the home of the castle's groundskeeper, until the night the castle itself had nearly burnt down. Growing up, Jim had spent summers here with his father. Now it had sat unused for nearly 20 years with the exception of his rare visits to keep everything in working order. Unused, that was, with the exception of Tattie. Apparently he'd been coming and going for the better part of a decade despite Jim's attempts to remove him. Amy opened her eyes and found the cat glaring at her from beneath the sofa. Don't you judge.

Jim was quick, and when he emerged they'd only just begun breakfast. What hair he had left was brushed back, still damp, and his beard was dripping. He gave his face a final rub with the towel before tossing it onto the mountain of dirty laundry the men shared. She gestured at a plate of toast on the counter and he muttered his thanks. They'd cleared little patches of space on the cluttered table, just enough for a few plates and cups of tea, or coffee, in Amy's case. Jim considered for a moment, then took his plate to the decrepit sofa instead. Tattie gave a warning growl as it sagged under Jim's weight.

"Wheesht yeh rascal." He turned his attention to them, "I suppose t'day you can see the castle."

Amy perked up. "You mean it?" He'd been avoiding the castle since they arrived, and shut down any conversation about going with a stern warning not to step foot inside.

"Aye, I can't make yeh wait forever. It's what yer here for. We'll need to go before dark though." He didn't elaborate further, and from his tone Amy gathered he was deep in thought.

They ate in silence for a while, silverware clinking against the plates. Eventually, Xavier asked, "Are you finally feeling back to normal? Erm- jet lag-wise, I mean. Not the other thing." He winced, but Jim didn't seem to notice his odd phrasing.

"I think so. Close enough anyways. I'll go into town today and get groceries. Xavier, why don't you come with me? There's something I need your help with."

He smiled conspiratorially before realizing that she was looking past him. He turned, and his expression fell when he noticed the pile of laundry. With a sigh he replied, "Alright, fine I'll be your pack mule. But for the love of god please fix the bloody water heater while we're out."

That last bit was directed at Jim, who was bent down, offering Tattie a corner of toast. "It don't need fixing, yeh youngsters just need tae be quick about it."

"There's no being quick with this." Amy held up a length of her hair and pointed. She'd skipped washing it the past two days just to avoid risking another freezing shower and it was starting to get gross.

"Ah, yeh just need a trim." He leaned forward and lurched to his feet, leaving the plate on the floor for Tattie, who watched him with suspicion.

"I like it long," Xavier offered.

"Aye, I bet yeh do at that."

Xavier and her shared a guilty look as Jim chuckled his way down the hall.

*****

The town of Braemar was a tiny, idyllic Scottish village. The buildings were all walled with stone or white plaster, and roofed in the same grey, moss covered shingles as the cabin. Rows of little shops lined the main road at the heart of the town, but just one street over, buildings grew scarce. Small houses were separated by entire lots of greenery. Behind it all was a parallax of hills and trees and clouds and, in the distance, the castle. Amy felt like she was inside a diorama.

They walked hand in hand down the cobbled bricks of the sidewalk. Xavier had their laundry in a sack slung over his shoulder. They'd taken Jim's beat up old car, a small boxy thing that was half muddy brown and half rust, but parked on the outskirts of town to walk the rest of the way. The fresh open air was a nice change of pace.

"Here's me." Xavier stopped and pointed at a strip with a tri-colored awning. A laundromat was sandwiched between a thrift store and a butcher.

"I'll see you around..." Amy pulled out her phone. "One?"

"Can do."

Amy watched him walk away, admiring his shoulders until she realized she'd begun chewing on her thumb and quickly turned to march the other direction. Ugh, why was she still like this? Whatever damage Gwen had done was beginning to seem permanent. Oh well, she thought, if it means more nights like last, then at least it isn't all bad.

Townsfolk were beginning to emerge now that the sun had been out long enough to raise the temperature to tolerable levels. They mostly ignored her, but every now and then she'd catch someone staring at her. Tracking her as she passed like their heads were on a swivel. Amy was used to it. She'd only been to town once with Jim as he showed her around. At first she'd assumed people were staring because, as far as she could tell, she was the only asian person in town. Today as she shopped, however, she discovered it was because she'd been with Jim.

Evidently the Thompson family had a bad reputation, and now Amy was a known associate. The castle had become a bit of a local legend. One man claimed it was haunted, another that Jim's family had been running a cult. A short woman who had to be nearly ninety said that in her youth she'd snuck inside with a friend and only she'd managed to escape alive. The town once tried to have it demolished, but Jim contacted the historical society and stopped it.

No one was openly rude, in fact, most people were entirely pleasant as they attempted to wheedle information out of her. Why was Jim in town? When would he leave? Was she alright? That last one gave her a laugh. She had trouble seeing Jim as anything other than a slightly crazy old man. An old man touting conspiracies everywhere he went, sure, but harmless. To her at least. He did claim to have slain three demons, at least one of which Xavier corroborated.

By noon she'd finished procuring supplies, and tossed them all in the car. They would keep in the freezing cold. She leaned against the car and began scrolling around a map of the village. A few miles out of town, just inside the forest was a bakery and cafe called Gust the Gab that she'd had her eye on for a while. It looked adorable. Quaint pictures of steaming mugs and golden-brown croissants against a backdrop of rain spattered windows. God, it made her want to curl up and read a book. If she took the car and left now... No. Cell service was already questionable in town, and in the woods it was probably worse. Plus she knew how she got when she fell into a good book. She definitely shouldn't go.

Amy pulled up to the cafe ten minutes later. The roads here were packed mud, overgrown in the middle with long grass that brushed along the bottom of the car. She pulled in next to the building and cut the engine. The drive hadn't been long enough for the heating to kick in and little puffs of steam came with her breath as she studied the building. A large window with white trim stood out against time worn stone walls. Vines grew from the wild, untended garden that surrounded the place, creeping up the walls and obscuring part of the window. Heavy oaks loomed over the clearing, blocking out half the light. Their branches, weighed down by time, nearly came to rest on the leaf strewn roof.

Okay, it was a bit creepier than the pictures made it out to be, and she appeared to be the only one here. There wasn't another car in sight, but the size of the cafe suggested an upstairs apartment, so the owner probably just lived here and walked to town. Amy briefly considered leaving, but the smoke rising from the chimney, and the warmth it promised, beckoned her. With a sigh she threw open the door, snagged her book, and made her way inside.

"Hello?" There was no one at the counter, just an old-fashioned cash register and an assortment of baked goods inside a small glass display. Floorboards creaked underfoot as she stepped closer and looked around. The cafe was empty. A handful of tables with mismatched chairs were scattered around the room. A variety of colorful rugs covered every inch of the floor, and crystals with gaelic runes carved into them sat on shelves. Plants were everywhere. Tall ferns filled the corners, pots of pothos hung from the ceiling, and she even spied a particularly sad looking cactus on the mantle.

"What do you want?"

Amy nearly leapt out of her shoes at the voice behind the counter. She spun to see a broad faced man staring at her with tired, sunken eyes. He was maybe forty, with snow-flecked stubble and a small pointed beard at the tip of his chin. He was slouched in a chair, low enough that she hadn't noticed him before, and seemed like he'd just woken up from a nap. She swallowed, willing her heart to slow down.

"I was um, hoping to get a latte and," she hastily scanned the pastries, "a cinnamon scone"?

He lurched to his feet with a sigh. Amy hadn't realized how big he was. Even hunched, he towered over her. He'd be probably seven feet tall if he stood up straight. He lethargically moved a scone into a paper bag with a pair of metal tongs, and trudged to the back counter to make her latte. His shirt strained against his arms as he worked. The man was muscled like a grizzly bear. Amy tried to picture him working out, but only managed to conjure an image of him sleeping on a weight bench. She bit down a laugh.

An eternity later, she paid with a few crumpled notes Jim had given her and sat by the window with her drink and the scone. To her surprise, the latte was one of the best she'd ever had, and the scone was perfect. Soft, with just the right amount of moisture, and a glaze of caramelized brown sugar that crunched when she bit in. She pulled out the novel she'd been working through, the sixth of a fourteen part fantasy series Gwen had recommended, and lost herself in the story.

Some time later, the sound of the door swinging open brought her attention back to reality. She blinked up to see a woman in a raincoat step through the doorway. It had begun raining, and the woman shook a green umbrella out the door.

"Connor, could you be a dear and help with these- I told you not to nap at the counter!" Her tone held a mixture of exasperation and resignation. The kind Amy used to chastise Gwen for doing something that she was told not to, but that Amy had known she would do anyway.

"I wasn't asleep, y'old hag. We've got company, by the way." He thumbed in her direction.

The woman turned and her face lit up, beaming. "Welcome dearie, aren't you a tidy little thing! Lovely choice, the scones turned out brilliant today, if I do say so myself."

"Um, thanks. And yes, it was delicious."

"Oh, an American! Whatever brings you all the way out here?"

"I'm on a trip for a research project at school. Studying historical sites." The lie had been Jim's idea.

The woman swapped her raincoat for an apron, hanging it by the door to dry. She stepped behind the counter, and bopped Connor on the head as she passed, ordering him in a voice firmer than before, "Bags. Car. Now." With another dramatic sigh, Connor rose and shuffled out into the rain. The woman turned her attention back to Amy. "So the old castle, I take it? You're staying with Jimmy then?"

Jimmy! Yes ma'am. Mr. Thompson kindly offered his cabin. He, uh, works with the school." That last part might be a stretch for anyone who knew Jim well enough to call him Jimmy. Curious, and looking to change the subject, Amy decided it was her turn to ask a question. "Do you know Mr. Thompson well?"

"I'd say so, I've known him since he was a wee lad. I used to babysit him."

Amy blinked. This woman looked no older than 60. Certainly younger than Jim. But if she was old enough to babysit then...

The woman chuckled, "I'm 84 if you must know."

Twenty years older than Jim?! "Sorry, no, I-"

"It's alright dearie, everyone says I look young." She slid open the glass and plucked a pasty out with the tongs. "If only I felt young!" She let out a warm bout of laughter as she approached Amy's table. Sensing that this would go on for a while, Amy marked her place and shut the book. "Here. Try this, on the house. Rosemary and white cheddar."

Amy was, as ever, trying to watch her weight, but baked goods were her achilles heel. The rosemary pastry might have been the best thing she ever tasted. The woman identified herself as Jessica, and joined her at the table. Jessica was a ball of energy. The complete opposite of Connor, probably 40 years her junior, who was now returning with two armfuls of grocery bags. Her short grey hair was styled in a pixie cut, and wore feathered earrings and an eccentric dress patterned in bright colors. Between her fashion choices, and the crystals scattered around the cafe, Amy put two and two together. This woman was some kind of... Scottish hippie? Was that a thing?

Still, despite the woman probably believing in all kinds of homeopathic nonsense that Amy would frown upon, she couldn't bring herself to dislike Jessica. She listened rapturously as Jessica shared stories of Jim getting into trouble, accusing random villagers of being monsters, and generally being a nuisance in his youth. Jessica was aware of the Watchers' reputation and seemed to have an idea of what they did.

"Malcolm, Jimmy's father, told me once when he was in his cups." She answered when Amy asked why she thought the Watchers were demons hunters. "He was a drunk, you see, and he'd always get to talking when he drank. I think it embarrassed him, what his family used to do. Not Jimmy though, Jimmy was a believer from the day he could read." She stared wistfully down into her mug.

"I see. So Jim's father, he didn't believe in demons?"

Jessica tilted her head, "Why demons?"

"Wha-what do you mean?"

"I said Jimmy believed in monsters, but you've said 'demons' twice now."

Amy panicked, reaching for an excuse. "Oh, uh, I was just reading a book with demons in it. That's probably why."

Jessica watched her for a moment. Amy's heart was beating like a hummingbird's. Eventually, Jessica shrugged. "Alright then. No, Malcolm always hated anything to do with his family or that old castle."

Amy knew she should probably change the subject, but she pressed further. "What about you? Do you believe in ...monsters?"

"I believe that there's plenty in the world that's beyond mortal ken. I dunnae if it's fair to call something monstrous though, just because we don't understand it."

Amy nodded politely. An answer sufficiently in line with the decor. Jessica might change her tune if she met a real demon. Amy had the disturbing realization that her thoughts sounded like something Jim would say. Before she could change the subject, the door opened again. Fast enough to bang against the wall beside it. A girl leapt across the threshold trailed by golden streamers of hair. She slipped on the floor, narrowly catching herself against the counter. A small pile of muffins toppled over and Connor growled.

"Sorry Con Con! Mamó, I found what you asked me to." She turned and held up a basket filled with plants. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of Amy. "Oh, hello there!"

She was close to Amy's age, maybe a little bit younger. A wide smile spread across her face, revealing a small gap between her front teeth. Her sharp jaw and high cheekbones, flushed red from the cold, reminded Amy of a cat. The baggy coat made it difficult to tell, but if her toothpick of a wrist was anything to go by, she was thin and wiry. Water dripped from her clothes, forming a small puddle beneath her.

"Evelyn, please." Jessica pleaded, exasperated. "Dry off and put the herbs in the back."

"But Mamó I-"

"Now." Her tone was suddenly ice cold.

Evelyn deflated. "Yes, mamó." She gave Amy a curious look before leaving.

"My granddaughter, Evelyn."

"She seems nice."

Jessica sighed, "Wild, you mean. I have to be strict with her or she'll get into all sorts of trouble."

"I know someone who's the same way."

"I'll leave you alone, dearie. Feel free to stop by anytime. I'm sure it isn't fun stuffing three people into that tiny cabin. Here, I'll take that for you." Jessica reached across the table for her empty plate, but took her hand instead. "Oh what a lovely ring."