"Cressida and I became lovers," Jeremiah said.
"Yes," Cressida added, "And Malek opened doors to me that I never knew would open, including meeting Cleopatra herself. In fact, the Queen and I became good friends."
"No way," Zed said, "You guys knew Cleopatra? Seriously?"
"It is true,' Jeremiah responded, "I was her trusted servant and bodyguard, and Cressida became one of her trusted priestesses."
"Wow," Scott said, "So what happened? How did you guys, uh, break up? And how did you become a Succubus, Cressida?"
"That is what I'd like to know," Jeremiah said. "When last I saw you, you were mortal..."
*
ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT
30 BCE
Malek burst into the temple, flinging open the twin doors.
"Cressida!" He cried. The priestess came out from a concealed chamber on the right side of the dais that held the altar and idol.
"Malek? What's wrong?"
"Octavian has launched his invasion. Already his legions are entering the city, as we speak!"
"And what of General Antony?"
"Dead, by his own hand."
"And our Queen?"
"She yet lives, but I must attend to her. I cannot take you back to her palace, it would be far too dangerous. I have come to tell you that you must leave this city immediately, before the Romans come!"
"No, Malek! I'll not leave without you!"
"You must! Cressida, you are a trusted friend to the Queen. Octavian knows this."
"And so?"
"Do you know what could happen to you, Cressida? After you are gang raped, then you will be scourged. If you are fortunate, the scourging will kill you. If not, you will be crucified."
"Then come with me!"
"I cannot! I must attend to our Queen! But here," Malek took a leather satchel he had been carrying and handed it to Cressida. "Here, I have some maps."
Malek took Cressida to the altar of Hathor, and not caring whether or not he was angering the goddess, opened the maps upon it.
"Here," Malek pointed at a spot on the map, "I have contacts among the Nabateans. They know of my reputation. They are prepared to take you to Arsinoe, and then across the Sinai to Petra. There they will keep you safe, until such time as I can find you."
"You have this all planned out, don't you?"
"Men in my position must have such plans."
"The Sinai is a wasteland! There is nothing there but sand, vipers, and scorpions!"
"It is the only option. The Romans control the harbor. Where else could you go that is not already under Roman rule?"
"What about Judea?"
"Herod is a Roman tool. He would hand you over to Octavian without batting an eye. I'm telling you, these Nabateans have my trust."
"I still would rather stay here and stand for my Queen and my country, and die if I must!"
Malek looked deeply into Cressida's defiant eyes. He felt emotions, emotions he hadn't felt in many years, as he gazed deeply into them.
"If something happened to you, my love, I do not know what I would do. I cannot lose you."
"If you send me into that desert, you would lose me."
Malek gently cupped her lovely face in his hands. "I would slay the entire world to find you."
Cressida could say nothing further. "So be it. Allow me to gather some things, then let us meet your Nabatean friends."
*
Scott's eyes continued to shift between Jeremiah and Cressida. "Okay," he said, "That still doesn't explain how Cressida here became an immortal Succubus."
"No, it doesn't," Jeremiah said. "Please, Cressida, what happened? How did this come to be?"
*
SINAI PENINSULA
30 BCE
The small caravan wound its way around the jagged hills, down into a wadi at the base of a small mountain, keeping as much to the shade as possible. Of course, during the blaring heat of midday, with the sun beating down up them, there was little shade to be had.
"It is to our good fortune," proclaimed the head camel drover, "That the camel does not need much water. Do you not think so?"
"I am certain, Waqilu," Cressida sighed, having long ago grown tired of the fat, smelly man and his equally smelly camels. "However, we do need water, and so far, I haven't seen much of that."
"Hey boy," Waqilu said to a young servant boy who was walking beside his camel, "Go get some water for the lady. Now!"
The boy nodded and ran towards the end of the caravan, fetching a wineskin which he took to the lady. Waqilu had been watching, and was not pleased.
"I told you to get water, you idiot! That boy is such an idiot!"
Cressida accepted the wine. "It doesn't matter, I prefer wine anyway!" She then said to the boy, "If it were up to me, you'd be riding the camel and Waqilu would be running!"
The boy smiled, and returned to walking beside Waqilu's camel. As he did so, the old tribesman who was acting as a guide, walking before the caravan, suddenly stopped.
"Why are we stopping?" Waqilu demanded. "We have a schedule! There is no stopping until nightfall!"
The boy ran up to the old tribesman and spoke to him in his language. "He say that he does not like this path. He say that there may be bandits about!"
Waqilu looked heavenward. "Bandits. He has said that before, many times. And so far? No bandits! What am I paying you for?"
Suddenly, an arrow whistled through the hot air and struck the lead tribesmen. "On guard! On guard!" Cried Waqilu, as an arrow penetrated his thick neck. He fell from his camel, dead. Suddenly, dark-clad men appeared from behind the rocks and crevices bearing clubs, spears, and daggers. Some of the members of the caravan drew swords and attempted to defend themselves but were soon cut down. Others tried to run and were struck with arrows. Cressida tried to keep low, attempting to avoid the cacophonous scene, an occasional arrow flying by her head as she moved toward the jagged hill above the wadi in an effort to conceal herself. She saw the last of the caravan riders cut down, including the young boy who served her wine. She wanted to scream, but she knew that she would be discovered. She hunkered down as far as she could and prayed to whatever god that was listening to keep her safe from these brigands.
Apparently, her prayers were heeded. She remained in the crevice for several long, hot, harrowing hours, as the bandits looted the conquered caravan, one of their members rounding the camels up, while others gathered their trophies and divided the loot amongst themselves. It was to Cressida's good fortune that she was familiar with several languages; although she was not fluent, she was able to understand the Aramaic these outlaws spoke.
"Hey! Look, Abdul! These items belong to a woman!"
"So? Maybe they were going to sell them in Damascus, or Jerusalem, or somewhere. Who would bring a woman out here?"
"Eh, maybe so. I still would like to find a woman!"
"Good luck with that! There aren't many women around here!"
She stayed concealed in that hard, hot, rocky hole until night had fallen. The bandits who remained in the area lit a campfire, knowing as they did that the desert was a fickle master, turning from blazing heat during the day to near freezing cold at night. Most of them had drunk from the captured stores of wine; the wine was of course cut with water or vinegar, and so was not especially high in terms of alcohol content. That these men were as intoxicated as they seemed to be was a tribute to their heroic thirst, or at least their desire to get drunk. Cressida believed that now was the time to make her exit from the area, which she did, being very careful not to make much noise as she fled in the dead of the desert night.
All she knew was that she had been running, then walking, then stumbling, for hours, as the sun rose once again, violently hammering down on the shifting sands. Her bare feet were burning and blistered, as sweat poured from her body (which she recognized as a good sign). She stopped to catch her breath, looking from right to left, seeing far off mountains and nothing else. No vegetation, no water, no animal life, not even an asp. Nothing but sand, rock, and that hateful sun. She trudged along, further into the heart of this sandy hell.
Finally, she had enough. She had stopped sweating as her body screamed for hydration. She fell to her knees. The gods had allowed her to escape; were they only toying with her now? Did they bring her out here to die as a sacrifice, to appease their whims? And still she cried out to whoever or whatever was listening. When Hathor, Ma'at, and Isis did not answer, she then cried out to Athena, Aphrodite, and Artemis. When they did not listen, she cried out to the lords of the underworld. Still there was no answer. She knew she was going to die, alone, abandoned, her body eventually turning to dust, to be joined with the blowing sands of the Sinai.
Her tears ceased when she felt a presence -- a dark, forbidding presence. A presence she had previously felt only in passing, never with the intensity she current experienced. The temperature in the air around her fell several degrees, and the midday desert heat felt as though it would soon snow. As if appearing from a mirage, a large, dark being approached her. It had the form of a man, yet was tall – much taller than any man she had ever seen – and muscular. Its skin was dark, yet unlike any human skin.
Then she looked at its face. Its hideous face had a long canine-like snout and fangs. She thought the creature resembled the god Anubis, yet there were enough differences between this creature and the popular depictions of the protector of the dead to convince her this was not the same being. The creature stopped before her as she knelt in the shadow cast by this beast.
"I have heard your prayers," The being growled, in a tongue Cressida did not recognize, and yet could understand, "And I see your penitence. I shall spare you, but you shall serve me."
"Who... who are you, my lord?"
"Do you know this place? It interests me. Not far from here is the holy mountain, upon which Yahweh gave his law unto the Hebrews, who also fled Egypt, much as you have."
"Yes, I am familiar with this story."
"I shall make a similar compact with you. You will serve me, and you shall remain upon this Earth until such time as I have no more use for you."
"So shall it be, my lord..."
*
Jeremiah turned away from Cressida. Scott looked at him, and saw regret and fear etched on his face. "Jeremiah? What's wrong?"
"How can it be? How can this be?"
"How can what be? Jeremiah?"
"I... I know this creature," Jeremiah faced Cressida once more. "This being, Cressida. What was his name?"
"The name he gave me," Cressida said, "was Baalseth."
Jeremiah's eyes grew wide yet again. "It is impossible! How can this be?"
"I don't understand, Jeremiah."
"Yeah, neither do I," Scott said.
"And neither do I," Zed also said.
Jeremiah looked at Scott and Zed. "Baalseth was the Old One who turned me."
"Whoa, no shit?" Zed asked.
"So what you're both saying," Scott said, "Is that the same being who turned you, Jeremiah, into a vampire, turned you, Cressida, into a succubus. Is that what I'm getting out of this?"
"So, we are connected," Cressida said, "You, and I, Malek. We are connected over the millennia, bound by the same creator. I knew I would find you again, Malek. I searched for you, and now I've found you. But why did you not come for me?"
"I did, Cressida, when I could. You must understand, Baalseth bound me to the house of Ptolemy. As long as the line of Ptolemy should rule Egypt, I would serve them. And when the line ended..."
"Suicide by asp, right?" Scott asked.
"That is the story as it is known. In truth, Cleopatra commanded me to take her life."
"You killed Cleopatra?"
"It is not something I care to speak of, but yes, she commanded me to kill her, much as I protested. In the end, I did her bidding. And since her children, especially her son by Caesar, would never sit upon the throne of Egypt, I was no longer bound to the house of Ptolemy. So I searched for you, Cressida. I found a band of brigands, likely those same bandits who attacked your caravan. Those I did not slay outright, I tortured. Even if I knew they knew nothing of you, I still delighted in torturing them. It is not something of which I am proud. But in the end, they knew nothing, I lost your trail, and the same master that bound you then once again bound me."
"I did try to track you, Malek, and believe me, it wasn't terribly hard, seeing as you left a trail of bodies wherever you went."
"Again, not a time of which I am proud, but the service my master demanded was the shedding of the blood of man, and I sought both to appease my master, and satisfy my own thirst, which at times seemed uncontrollable."
"Of course, the trail went cold, long about the year 33, if I recall correctly. You seem to have disappeared in Jerusalem. Is it true what I heard about you, Malek? About how you met the Nazarene?"
Scott's eyes boggled as his mind just about exploded. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, back the cart up a bit, lady. 'The Nazarene'? Are you saying that Jeremiah met Jesus? Jeremiah, did you meet Jesus?"
"Well, we interacted only briefly," Jeremiah responded.
"And you never thought of mentioning this to me?"
"It's highly personal to me!"
"Well, yeah, I'll bet it is!"
Scott looked at both Zed and Weems, both of whose mouths were gaping. "Obviously, you didn't know about that, Kitty, did you?"
"No!" Kitty replied.
"Dude," Zed said, "That's so heavy!"
Cressida cleared her throat. "Anyway! So it's true, you met the Nazarene, and because of that, you turned from your life of blood and killing and all that, right?"
"It is when I took the name Jeremiah, in the hopes of leaving my old life behind."
"Yeah, well, it must not have taken, 'cause a couple hundred years later, guess what? More dead bodies, up into Europe. I guess the 1450's were real fun for you, huh?"
"Okay, Jeremiah, what's with the 1450's?" Scott asked.
"Please, I am not proud of these things."
"Oh, you say that now," Cressida laughed, "But it must have been some grand times you had hanging with the Prince of Wallachia."
"Wait," Scott once again interrupted, "Prince of Wallachia? You don't mean..."
"Vlad Dracula, the Impaler," Cressida answered. "Malek and he must have been real good buddies for a while."
"I would not describe it as such," Jeremiah said, "As once again, I was bound to a powerful ruler. I saved him from the Turks, and he spared me."
"Is it true, Malek, that the stories of Vlad's cruelty were actually stories of your cruelty?"
"Enough! I don't care to hear your insinuations, Cressida!"
"Ah. I must've hit a nerve. Okay, we'll skip that inconvenient time in history. By the way, when Bram Stoker wrote his novel, he may have named his vampire Dracula, but most of the things he wrote about were actually done by Malek."
"Whoa, no shit," Scott said. "I... I had no idea."
"And you wouldn't have had an idea," Jeremiah said. "These are things I would sooner forget about. You must understand, I am not the same being as I was in those days."
"Oh yeah, Malek?" Cressida asked. "And when will you go back to being that creature? It happened once, it surely will happen again!"
"Hey, lady," Scott responded, "Really, that's enough. I don't know this 'Malek' you speak of, but Jeremiah is my friend. He's not that way anymore!"
"Says the vampire."
"Yo, she-bitch," Zed said, "Scott's my friend. He's cool, you know?"
"Says the werewolf."
"I would say something in defense of you guys," Kitty said, "But she'd probably find something to say about me."
"Anyway," Scott growled, "This isn't a celebrity roast for Jeremiah, interesting and enlightening as it has been. We're here to find out why you were trying to kill me, and who sent you."
"And the slightly overweight vampire gets down to business!" Cressida laughed. "Okay, cheer up, guys, I'll tell you all I know. All I know is that my handler told me to take out a guy named Douglas Campbell, that he's in Portland or soon will be in Portland, he's from Georgia originally, his dad was a war veteran also named Douglas Campbell, and he likes to hang out in seedy strip clubs, hence my part-time job. Oh yeah, and he's been going by his mother's maiden name: Mowatt."
"'Mowatt'? My dad was a vet named Douglas Campbell but my mom's maiden name is Applegate. I've never been to Georgia, and I don't like hanging out in strip clubs!"
"Seriously? You really don't like strip clubs?"
"No!" Scott pointed at Zed. "It's Zed's fault. He made me go!"
"Way to throw me under the bus, Campbell!" Zed whined.
"Perhaps this is a case of mistaken identity?" Jeremiah said. "Douglas Campbell is a fairly ordinary name, by modern American standards."
"Yeah, I guess it could be," Cressida said, "Especially since they sent me. A succubus is a lousy choice to take out a vampire."
"Yeah, no kidding," Scott said. "I still think we need to find the full story here. Cressida, is there any way you could set up a meet between me and your handler?"
"I dunno, he's pretty shy."
"Aw, come on! I think I'm owed an explanation here!"
"Please, Cressida," Jeremiah pled as he knelt before her, "If there is anything you can do, we would like to find out why Scott was targeted, if not for his sake, then to save someone else's life."
"I always did like to see you beg, Malek," Cressida said.
"I am called Jeremiah now."
"I will always remember you as Malek, the powerful demigod who smiled upon a poor servant girl and lifted her up to a position of power. And then sent me out into a desert to die."
"I would ask for your forgiveness, though I do not deserve it."
"You're damn right you don't deserve it!"
"Then do it for Scott. He is innocent!"
"He's a vampire. He's not innocent."
"Thanks a lot, lady," Scott whined.
"If I could make it up to you, Cressida," Jeremiah said, "I would, I swear it." Jeremiah then took her hand in his. Cressida's face lightened a bit as she gazed into his eyes.
"I gotta say, Jeremiah, that after two thousand years, your eyes are the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and your body ain't bad, either."
"Thank you, Cressida."
"Oh, brother," Scott rolled his eyes. "Am I that bad with Dawn?"
Zed nodded. "Yep, you are!"