Lure of Desire
Copyright© 2026 by Voloken
Chapter 5
Safely squirreled away in a two-star dump by the interstate, Alyssa meticulously prepared the room for her dive into the Crosspaths. Candles and incense, of course, to put her in the right frame of mind, but she also rearranged the furniture. As much as she could, anyway, since half the shit in this place was literally nailed down.
She needed the room to be as inviting as possible to the Peregrine, the guardian of the Crosspaths and host of that dream. The result was rough, and the feng shui of the place was terrible, but she’d done the best she could.
She checked once more that everything was locked, then jammed the room’s chair under the doorknob. She couldn’t barricade the window, though, or she’d risk offending the Peregrine further. There was already enough risk of it simply tossing her into the Dread, so she wasn’t about to make it worse.
Sitting down on the bed, Alyssa took a deep, tired breath. Her gaze landed on the nightstand, where her new book sat. How disappointing it had been, considering how much she’d risked to get it.
The red-and-gold volume was a Neo-Latin commentary on an older Greek text, or so the frontmatter claimed. Luckily, Latin was one of the few languages Alyssa had some training in, thanks to that horrible boarding school in the UK.
It bore the title ‘Commentarii in Principia Transformationis,’ or ‘Commentaries on the Principles of Transformation,’ by some dead German: Count von Hohenlohe. Seeing as the book was dated to the mid-seventeen hundreds, Alyssa could only assume that the author was aping Isaac Newton’s ‘Principia Mathematica.’
The original Greek text was not reproduced in Hohenlohe’s Commentaries, and he referred to its author only as ‘the Teacher,’ as far as Alyssa had read. The denser sections were beyond her meager abilities, at least without her magic, though she doubted the author’s name was buried in them regardless.
Having managed to connect to her personal network from the motel’s shitty Wi-Fi, she figured she’d burn a proxy on a few searches and translations just to make sure she wasn’t missing anything, but it was no use. She found no mention of ‘The Principles of Transformation’ anywhere, and the bits and pieces she translated from the commentaries were ... less than useful.
During her inspection, she did find two pages bookmarked with playing cards. The first, a six of diamonds, marked a section about metamorphosis. It detailed the process a silkworm underwent to become a moth in frankly disturbing detail. Hohenlohe went on to explain that this metamorphosis was what ‘the Teacher’ called ‘the Mastery of Mirrors,’ and that the inner could be turned outer through the deft application of reflection. Gibberish, in other words.
The second, marked with a king of spades, covered trickery and lies. It expounded on the principle of ‘perception as transformer of reality,’ and how ‘false’ power had a strength of its own, exceeding ‘true’ power. True power, Hohenlohe insisted, had to be guarded jealously, while ‘false’ power had to be projected widely to exist at all. That was what ‘the Teacher’ meant when he spoke of the languid passivity of truth and the fervent activity of falsehood. That was why, Hohenlohe postulated, lies reigned absolute, and liars wore crowns while prophets wore rags.
There was nothing about demons, curses, or the country of sleep. How exactly was she supposed to make use of it? What worth were mirrors and moths to her? Maybe she’d missed something, but the playing cards looked perfectly ordinary, and the table of contents was no more encouraging.
Her next best bet was the Crosspaths. Everything was as well aligned as she could make it, and while it was nothing like the spare bedroom at Camilla’s, Alyssa could only hope it was enough. Anywhere with more freedom to rearrange the furniture would be far less safe to sleep in, and she didn’t like the idea of waking up with a shank in her ribs from some crackhead.
Alyssa sighed. The possibility of getting thrown into a horrible nightmare for unending hours made her hesitate, but there was no other way. She had to proceed. So she would. With a deep breath, she laid her head on the shitty pillow and closed her eyes, focusing on clearing her mind with a murmured mantra so unconsciousness might find her faster.
I struggled out of bed, stretched my stiff, aching limbs and cursed ... everything, really. Of course, the first thing I’d done was check on my cock. It was there, and it was huge. It had feeling, didn’t hurt anymore and didn’t look like it was about to fall off. My balls were in a similar situation. All that was left bruised, then, was my pride.
Raven was completely knocked out. With a blissful smile on her face, and lying partly in a decent quantity of drying cum, she was probably having a nice dream. Something which, according to the demoness, I wouldn’t be doing any time soon.
By now I’d been awake for forty-eight hours or so without feeling tired, but I’d elected not to think too much about it. After what she said, though ... I shook my head. No, it wasn’t helpful. From where I was there was only one way: forward. Wasting time on what wouldn’t help me move in the right direction wasn’t something I could afford. Not now.
The clock was ticking. Four days and some change, that was what I had, give or take, before my soul would get shredded and eaten by an eyeless dream devil with six tits, and that was assuming I didn’t have to use any more, which, given how the last few days had gone, wasn’t a wise bet. Damn Alyssa. If she’d just done as she was supposed to—no.
I made a mistake; I would fix it. There was no use crying over spilled milk. The Alyssa problem was for another day. Now ... now I needed to figure out two things: where and how to get essence.
Unfortunately, asking the demoness was out of the question. She had warned me once already about asking her dull questions, and I was sure this counted as such. If I asked it, I might just die. She was also not willing to divulge it for free, and I wasn’t sure I’d want her to. Every time she let something ‘slip,’ something backfired. Or maybe that was just paranoia, but I wasn’t feeling charitable at the moment.
I glanced once more at Raven’s sleeping form. I ... might be able to ask her. Not Camilla, obviously, but Raven ... I had some hooks in her now, and while I’d rather not pull on them too soon ... if I framed it correctly ... kept her from realizing it was a question at all ... Maybe. Something to think on.
I left my little moth to her rest and took a quick shower. Mind refreshed, if only a little, I devised a simple plan. First, I had to swing by my apartment. These clothes were filthy, and I wanted my guns on hand. Having the rest of my shit couldn’t hurt, either. The thought of leaving Camilla completely unsupervised gave me pause, but only for a moment. It was an irrational fear. She had no more reason to leave now than she had before, when I let her go to work.
With Camilla’s car, it proved a quick trip. My little slice of the projects was a Section 8 piece of shit that I probably wasn’t really supposed to have. The building itself was forgettable, as were its surroundings. No one came here unless they absolutely had to. Even the crackheads were asleep at this ungodly hour, though, so the street was clear.
I parked the shitty Prius on the curb and slipped on some latex gloves. I had the keys from when Camilla returned my phone, so getting in was easy. The security camera was still broken, I noted, but luckily, no one had broken in while I was away. As soon as I opened the door to my spartan home, I got to work ransacking the place. The 1911 went into my waistband, and all the rest of my clothes, guns, and tools went into trash bags for ease of transport, then I pushed my bed out of the way.
Underneath it was the carpet, of course, but my knife made short work of it. Beneath that, there were floorboards. My clawhammer made short work of those. There, in a small cubbyhole I’d made years ago, was a box.
I’d never been a sentimental man, but opening it should probably have elicited ... something from me. It felt like it should matter more. It didn’t, though, and I pocketed the simple silver cross necklace, along with the unmarked bills tucked in beside it.
I took in the place one last time. What a shithole it had been, living here. But there were some fun moments. I’d miss Damien, but ... well, all things, good, bad or unremarkable, inevitably came to an end, and tonight, Damien ended. A pity that he was too poor and lonely for anyone, much less the cops, to give too much of a shit.
With that, I left the apartment and made my way back down to the car. It’d been fast, all things considered, but not fast enough. Some fuckhead was trying to jimmy his way into the Prius, because of course nothing could just be easy.
“Fuck off!” I shouted over to the bum as I dropped some trash bags and pulled out my 1911. “I swear to fuck, if you don’t fuck off, I’ll— Archie?”
The burglar, frozen stiff by my interruption, looked over, letting me recognize him. Wild, dirty blonde hair, dirty wifebeater—just dirty all around. The old coot was looking about as terrible as ever.
“D?” There was a hint of recognition in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t that fucked up tonight. “What—This your ride...?”
“Yeah...” I said, hesitating for a moment. Time to code-switch. I put my gun away and grabbed my shit off the ground. “What the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were uptown; didn’t you move in with, what’s-her-name, the stripper? Cherry?”
“Charity,” he corrected. “And yeah, I did, but things didn’t really work out, I—”
“I don’t care.” I unlocked the car and opened the trunk, throwing all my shit inside. “Look, if you’re hard up for cash, I might have something for you.”
“Oh, uh, sure!” Archie visibly perked up. “I ain’t saying no to charity!”
“Probably woulda been better off if you did, but this won’t be free, asshole.” I slammed the trunk. “I’m talking about a gig. You know people, right? You keep bragging about your ‘connections.’”
“I mean, yeah, I guess...” He looked a bit confused, but that could just be because he was only a little high. “But like, I’m not sure anyone I know would be up to laying bricks or whatever you want ‘em to do.”
“What the fuck are you—” Ah, right. He knew Damien, not me. “No, idiot, why would I go to you for that? I’m talking about a real gig. A job for the kind of people you know.” I walked around to the driver’s side, where he was standing. “God damn...! You fucking scratched the glass!”
He took a step back, hands up. “Whoa, man! Chill! It’ll buff right out! And besides!” He pointed accusingly. “How the fuck was I supposed to know it was your car? Where’d you get something like this?”
“It’s my girlfriend’s, fuckface.” I thumbed the scratch. “Ah, whatever. Get in the car, we need to talk.”
“Hey, man, I don’t know if—”
I sighed. “Look, man, just hear me out. You don’t have to agree to nothing.”
He eyed me suspiciously, licking his cracked lips. He already had a homeless stink about him, so Chevy or whatever her name was musta kicked him out a while ago. Gambling was my guess for what ended it, because the girl he scored was a crackwhore through and through. Drugs woulda killed them before coming between them.
“You a cop?” he asked.
It was my turn to be confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I dunno, man, you tell me.”
“Tell you what?” I opened the car’s door and put a foot inside. “Why the fuck would you think I’m a cop?”
“You show up outta nowhere with a brand new Prius—”
“It’s, like, three years old, I think...”
“And you’re all the sudden asking for my contacts when you never was interested, or so much as caught a parking ticket before. Talking about some job nonsense...” He was near cross-eyed from thinking so much, I could tell. “I dunno man, this is all way too suspicious.”
I pulled a Benji out of my pocket. “Hundo, just for hearing me out. I’ll drop you off wherever you want.”
He swiped the bill immediately. “A’ight, why didn’t you say so?” He walked around to the passenger’s seat. “We going or...?”
With a chuckle, I climbed in. Archie followed suit right after. “So,” I started, taking off. “Like I said, a job. But first, I need to figure something out. You know people, yeah? And you gossip like an old Facebook grandma.”
“Hey!”
I flashed him a smile. “I need to know if you know of any weird groups around the city.”
“Weird?” He gave me another strange look. “Weird how?”
“Like Scientology weird. Cults, maybe not explicitly religious. Yoga or whatever also works. But with creepy assholes. Maybe suspected of having done some heinous shit.”
He gave me a flat look. “And somehow I’m supposed to believe you’re not a cop?”
I groaned. “I’m not looking to arrest any of your gangster friends, Archie. I’m looking for weirdoes. You know what I mean.”
“Say I do,” he drawled. “I’m just not convinced I should tell ya shit.”
“Do you actually know something, Archie?” We stopped at a red light and I threw a serious stare his way. “Because if you do, I can prove my cred to you. If you’re lying and you make me prove it, I will find you and kill you.” I pulled up my shirt and flashed my handgun. It didn’t have a bullet in the chamber, and I was ready for him to lunge for the gun, but that didn’t happen.
He considered me for a long while. “Yeah, I know something or other about weirdoes doing weird shit. There’s some weird lesbian orgy shit I heard about kinda recently. There’s always something weird happening somewhere in this city, and I’d bet in any other city too.”
“Right. Grab the wheel.” I slid between the seats into the back.
“What the fuck?!” Archie did grab the wheel, though.
“Just get in the driver’s seat,” I snapped. The backrest, was it one of the ones that—yeah I folded it down and got into the trash bags in the trunk. “Keep going forward. Try not to hit anything.”
The car rolled forward by itself a bit before Archie took control. “Fuck you, man! You’re not getting me for a DUI. This shit’s entrapment!”
I dug out the garrote, the RF detector, a knife, some sleeping pills, a change of clothes, a blindfold, socks and a couple of pairs of handcuffs. I then activated my AirTag and planted it between the cushions of the backrest. That was all I needed. I put on a sweater and stuffed everything small enough in its pockets, with the clothes going in a smaller cloth bag I had.
“The fuck you doing back there?!” Archie was watching me in the rearview mirror.
“Getting my necessities,” I said, arranging everything so it wouldn’t bulge or fall out. I looked around, then checked my phone’s map. “Take the next left.”
“Down south? Why?”
“Just do what I say. You were trying to steal the car, yeah? You got a chop-shop ready?”
“I ain’t saying shit.”
“It’s gonna be real awkward if you don’t, later.”
“What you planning, man?”
“I’m gonna prove to you I’m not a cop. Simple as, really.” I glanced at the map again. “Next right, then stop.”
“The fuck you mean by that?” Archie was looking nervous.
“Stop here,” I said, looking around. This was the place. No cameras around here. There’d be some by the bars just ahead, but not here. “You know Glendale Park?”
He did stop, at least, then looked over his shoulder at me. “Yeah?”
“You’re gonna meet me there, by the little playground, in two hours.”
“What?”
“If you’re not there, I’m gonna hunt you down.” I got out through the back door, then popped the passenger door open. “And I’m going to fucking skin you alive, then feed you your own fucking skin.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, man!”
“I guess you’ll figure out I’m not a cop either way, but I really advise you to be at Glendale Park. Now drive off. I need you far away before I begin.”
He stared at me for a moment, probably thinking about what he should do. He did drive off eventually, though. The AirTag I’d planted in the car would tell me if he was keeping his word. Between my guns and the rest of my shit, some insurance went a long way. If this went sideways, I’d also have Archie as a fall guy, so he’d be useful regardless of what he did.
Once I was satisfied that he was far enough away, I plotted a route and called an Uber. Someone was about to have a very bad night.
The country of sleep wasn’t like the real world. It wasn’t a place where you could walk around and look and touch and smell. It was ... a state of being. One interacted with it through emotion, and the Crosspaths were, as ever, a cacophony of feeling. It was hard to maintain composure in this kind of place, but Alyssa managed to focus on the relief she felt at not having come to awareness amid the Dread.
Most of those here were simply sleepers, but some were like her. Some were sleepwalkers, aware dreamers who sought invitation from the Peregrine, rather than being stolen away by it for a night.
What she usually did was gather useful information by ‘overhearing’ sleepers and ‘gossiping’ with sleepwalkers, or the equivalent in the country of sleep. This time she had to seek out a sleepwalker and arrange a bargain. It was more complicated, but she’d start by feeling curiosity and need as she searched the crowds of sleep for one of her peers.
It was Alyssa who was found first, however. It wasn’t quite an ambush, but it was a sudden appearance. The other sleepwalker’s presence rippled with joy, curiosity and conviction as it approached. It was hard to describe these sorts of meetings in any useful way. There were no constants or landmarks among the crowds of sleep.
This one had a metallic tinge to it, like the taste of blood or the texture of rust. It was sharp-edged but respectful. Confident, too, in a way that betrayed an easy arrogance, as though nothing could assail it, so it had never felt fear.
Alyssa already hated it. She bristled, but only momentarily, knowing she couldn’t afford to be too picky with possible allies right now. As the sleepwalker seemed friendly, she exuded the feelings she’d learned to associate with the standard ‘gossiping stance.’ Speaking in the country of sleep meant sharing feelings more than words, so interpretation mattered, and she’d found it best to open with small talk to make sure each understood the other.
Alyssa started by sharing rumors she’d heard about a coming conjunction, which might explain increased exchanges between reality and the country of sleep. The sleepwalker shared visions involving disappearances of women and implied they might be tied to a newish group of Slither cultists. Banal things, just to get things started.
Eventually, Alyssa dangled a tasty morsel: information about an incarnate spirit in the city. No one else should know about it yet, and even rumors might spoil some of the damn demon’s plans. The sleepwalker seemed particularly interested in that and wanted more on the subject.
Alyssa obliged, of course, but let it be known that she herself was looking for information about curses, in case her peer felt generous. The sleepwalker implied it knew things, but not in exchange for news alone. What it actually wanted was harder to parse. Its desire was something esoteric. When Alyssa thought she might be on the cusp of understanding it, it changed. Was the sleepwalker jerking her around, or...
Change. It wanted to know more about change. Of course! Alyssa’s excitement leaked into the interaction, and the sleepwalker grew excited too. It thought of Alyssa as ‘sister,’ for some reason, and inquired further about her quest for curses. Alyssa described her interest in locking curses, forbidding sigils, and hazardous memes.
The sleepwalker, whom Alyssa had come to call the Iron Sister in her thoughts, was interested in alchemy and in what it called a ‘Great Work.’ It wanted deeper insight into the nature of change so that it might distill its own Prima Materia.
This was why Sophie had picked Hohenlohe’s book for Alyssa. It all made sense, and it confirmed that Sophie really did have magic, a gift not unlike Alyssa’s own for reading desires. The thought rankled, but it proved its worth in this moment.
She had a real plan of action now. If the Iron Sister proved as useful as she seemed, Alyssa might just be able to strike back at the demon more directly. Oh yeah, it was all coming together.
The driver who accepted my ride was ideal. The odds had been good that he would be, but with only one shot at this, it was lucky all the same. I’d walked in front of a bar to wait for him, making sure at least one security camera caught me. He dropped off his last customer and came to pick me up. When he arrived, I climbed into the back seat.
Another stroke of luck: no barrier between the front and back seats. Otherwise I’d have had to insist on riding shotgun, which would have been awkward. The car was a beater, too, common and unremarkable, and the app had listed the driver as Luís. It was as though fate itself had ordained that this man die. And who was I to deny fate?
“Night’s pretty warm this time of year, hey?” I said conversationally. “You doing good, man?”
Luís laughed awkwardly. “Yes, very hot,” he said, accent thick.
I kept the chatter up, mostly talking over him while he laughed and nodded, clearly not following most of the nonsense I was spouting. More proof he was perfect. I made myself as amiable as I could, and he soon seemed to decide that as long as he laughed now and then, he could safely tune me out. I dropped my phone a few times, too, feigning drunkenness.
Luís was also the sort of driver who followed the GPS faithfully, which was the last piece I needed to fall into place. Once we reached the street I knew would be dark, empty, and shielded from windows by trees, I ‘accidentally’ dropped my phone again, this time under the driver’s seat. How clumsy of me. Now I’d need to lean in behind Luís to grab it. He barely batted an eye.
I surged up behind the driver’s seat and snared Luís’s neck with the garrote before he could react. By the time he realized something was wrong, he couldn’t scream. In the same motion, I hauled the handbrake, bringing the car to a lurching stop as Luís struggled.
“I was planning to take some homeless guy,” I explained even as he lapsed into unconsciousness. “Unfortunately for you, I ran into an old friend, and he needed proof I was legit. So it goes, eh? Life’s a bitch sometimes.”
He soon went slack. I let go of the garrote and checked his pulse. I didn’t need him dead, after all. His heart kept pumping, steady as ever. I got out of the car and opened the driver’s door. Getting Luís out was easy enough, between all the construction work I’d been doing and my newly gained magical strength.
I cuffed his hands and feet, fed him some sleeping pills, gagged him with the blindfold and socks, and threw him in the trunk. I changed my clothes and stashed the old ones in with him, to keep his head from bumping around. Then I pulled the car to the curb and checked it over with the RF detector. No trackers, just his phone and mine.
I got in the driver’s seat and kept going, making sure his phone stayed unlocked. I finished the run and ‘dropped myself off’ at an old, abandoned storefront I had a key to, courtesy of a friend, in case I ever ran into trouble. I knew there were no cameras nearby. I went inside and stashed my phone, then returned to the car and accepted another fare on Luís’s phone.
A man and a woman got into the back as soon as I pulled up. They barely acknowledged me beyond a mumbled ‘hey,’ and they spent the whole trip dry-humping, so the drop-off went without a hitch.
The next few rides were much the same. People didn’t ask questions at this time of night. Between fares, I snooped through Luís’s phone. Mostly texts to his wife and children, with a handful to friends. All in Spanish, of course, but years of working near the Mexican border had taught me the language.
Plenty of messages about job hunting, specifically work with lax documentation requirements. Everything led me to believe he wasn’t the sort of man authorities would make much fuss over, assuming anyone reported him missing at all.
When it was time, I parked near a homeless camp, pried the back off Luís’s phone, and wrecked the battery with the knife. I destroyed the SIM too and tossed every piece over the fence into the encampment, where those vultures would pick it clean by morning. Afterward, I drove to Glendale Park and found Archie exactly where I’d expected him.
I parked in a nearby alley, changed back into my original clothes, and walked up to Camilla’s Prius. I knocked on the passenger-side window, startling Archie, who’d been looking the other way.
“What the fu—D? There you are!” He unlocked the door. “Well, I’m here. You’re not getting me on grand theft, no sir.”
I slid in and closed the door. “I jacked an Uber. I hope your chop shop is up to shedding some heat.”
He just stared at me.
“The driver’s out cold in the trunk.” I buckled my seatbelt. “I’m gonna need your help moving him into this car before you take the other one. Here’s the RF detector, so you can check I left no trackers. Feel free to use it to find the AirTag in this one, as a test.” I tossed the detector to him, and he caught it clumsily.
“What ... the fuck?” Archie eventually managed.
“You can keep seventy-five percent of what the chop shop pays, too, if you help me put together a crew and get some information. Consider it an advance.” I shot him an impatient glance. “Drive, man. We don’t got all night. The Uber’s in an alley just over there.”
He did as I told him and still looked astonished that there actually was a car where I said there’d be one.
“Holy fuck.”
“I know it’s just a hunk of junk, but it should fetch a solid chunk of change regardless.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“A friend, so long as you give me what I want.” I opened the door. “Pop the trunk and come help me move the guy.”
Luís was still out and, most importantly, still alive. First, we moved my bags to the back seat, then Luís. Archie swore the whole time. Once that was done, I handed him the keys to the Uber.
“So, we good?” I asked. “You’ll sell me the info I need and introduce me to some guys?”
“Uh, yeah...” His face blanched, and he still didn’t look like he believed what was happening right in front of him. “Holy shit, man, that guy, that’s, like, real? Holy shit. Holy fuck. What’re you gonna do with him?”
I just looked at him, disappointed.
“You’re right, fuck, I don’t wanna know.” He kept combing his fingers through his hair, a nervous tic. “Fuck. Fuck. Yeah, I’ll ... yeah. Whatever, man. Shit.”
“Good man.” I slapped his shoulder. “Drive outta the city for a while, then come back before heading to the shop. Oh, I think I still have some fake plates from way back in the day. Gimme a moment.”
I rummaged through my shit on the back seat. Yep, still there. I retrieved the pair and handed them to Archie, alongside some basic tools to help change them. “I don’t expect anyone’s gonna be looking for our guy, really, but hey, better safe than sorry. You know how to change plates, yeah? Do it once you’re out of city limits, then take some route back around. Avoid highways coming back.”
He nodded along with everything I said.
“Good. We’ll talk later. Is your number still...? Great.” It was about three in the morning, last I checked. “I’ll call you at ten. Be up. I’m in a hurry.”
“Holy fuck, holy shit.”
“Yep.” I smiled. “And if you ghost me, I will find you. This can be very profitable or very painful, and you get to decide.” I winked. “Remember: ten AM, sharp.”
After that, I drove back to the storefront for my phone, then on to Camilla’s. I still had a door to swap, after all. I really should have fixed the basement entrance before leaving the house...
When Alyssa woke, it was still dark. Checking her phone, she saw it was near dawn. She quickly grabbed her laptop and started typing. She needed to get everything down before she forgot the details. She’d agreed to meet the Iron Sister again in the Crosspaths that night, but their acquaintance had already borne fruit.
All curses were debts, the Iron Sister had conveyed. To weaken them, usually only temporarily, one could elect to pay a little of what the debt demanded. This could be tricky, depending on the curse. The deadliest curses wanted the bearer dead, so even a partial payment would be ruinous, since the price was life. The technique had its uses, but it had to be weighed carefully.
Though she couldn’t recall every word of the demon’s curse, she knew what it demanded: her essence. It had saddled her with a debt of power, and if she paid a little, the shackles would loosen enough for her to do magic. Unshackled, and with a little more knowledge, she could try to break the curse.