LITMIR.BIZ

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surprised me. As a kid, I’d longed for more of Carrie’s attention. As an adult, I wished she’d leave me the hell alone. Yet now, I couldn’t stop crying.

      I let Jasmine take over the arrangements. She loves shopping, even shopping of the funerary variety. As she eagerly flipped through catalogs full of coffins and flowers, Harold leaned over her shoulder offering suggestions.

      Watching them, I stopped thinking about my mother and started examining the funeral director. There was more to him than met the eye. He sounded patient and soothing, but he hated his job. He was soberly dressed, yet on weekends he stuffed twenty dollar bills into the G-strings of strippers and paid for lap dances. He smoked as a way to lose weight.

      I blinked, surprised. Where had those thoughts come from? After all, I’d only met the chubby, little man fifteen minutes before. I couldn’t possibly know that much about him.

      Inside my head, an unfamiliar presence stirred. Look closer, it urged me.

      So I did. Little clues began to take shape. Tucked inside Harold’s soothing voice was a nearly undetectable note of impatience. Every few minutes, his eyes darted to the clock as he counted the minutes until he could leave. As for the strippers, I noticed a book of matches peeking up from his pants pocket. On it, was an outline of a topless woman with her hands clasped behind her head. His suit was too large for him, and his belt was cinched past two well-worn holes. Finally, I noticed a rectangular bulge in the breast pocket of his jacket where he hid something the exact size and shape of a pack of cigarettes.

      I shook my head. I was making too many assumptions. I had no idea if the matches were his, and the bulge in the jacket could be a cell phone. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my impressions were spot on.

      The strange presence in my mind stirred again, this time adding a sharp nudge. Although it didn’t it use a voice or words, I understood its silent communications. You may not be entirely right, it seemed to say, but you’re awfully damned close.

      I wasn’t talking to myself. I knew the sound of my own intuition, and this wasn’t it. This thing, this presence, had a sinister edge. It delighted in Howard’s secret sins. It loved his weekly lap dances and delighted in his smoking. The fact that he was miserable in his job made the thing in my head smile approvingly.

      I mopped my sweating forehead with my sleeve. What the hell was happening to me? Where were these wretched thoughts coming from?

      “What do you think, Lilith?” Jasmine’s voice drew me back to the conversation. Then she frowned. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

      She started to put her hand on my shoulder, but Harold was quicker. He scooted close to me and offered me his handkerchief. “This is hard for you, I know.” His peppermint-scented breath puffed in my face. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water maybe?”

      To my relief, the sinister presence in my head had quieted. “No, I’m fine.” To refocus myself, I thumbed through a catalog. The caskets were made of polished wood and chrome, as lovely as fine furniture and twice as costly. I gasped at the prices. Even the least expensive one was double my rent check.

      Typical Jasmine hadn’t bothered with the prices when she’d made her selections. She’d picked out a cherry wood coffin with silver trim, an immense casket spray, and two enormous flower arrangements. Even if my mother had possessed the means to pay for her funeral, I couldn’t get her money until it went through probate court. That would take months.

      The thought of money made the room fold over on itself. “Jas, I can’t afford this! I hardly have enough for groceries!” The insurance company had yet to reimburse me for the damage to my burned-out house, claiming the fire wasn’t accidental. In addition, I hadn’t worked in weeks because of the Christmas break. My savings account balance was zero, and my checking account was close to being overdrawn. I put my hand to my head to stall off a headache. A year ago, my weekly allowance from Ted had been well into the four-figure range, yet now I couldn’t pay for the new shoes that Grace desperately needed.

      Jasmine shrugged, unconcerned. “What’s the big deal? Just put it on a credit card.” She pulled out her phone and began texting.

      Harold gave a reassuring smile. “We do have a payment plan.”

      Even with a payment plan, I’d be in trouble. Rent on the townhouse, insurance on the car, and utilities were squeezing me down to the last penny. I didn’t want to send my mother off in a pine box, but I was desperate. “Is there something else I can do? Cremation, maybe?” I hoped Carrie couldn’t see me down here haggling over her funeral like a tourist at a Middle-Eastern bazaar.

      I’d expected Harold’s smile to fade, but it remained as bright as ever. “Let me see.” He picked up the notepad he’d been using and crossed off several items. Then he re-added figures, mumbling to himself as he punched numbers on his calculator.

      He showed me the final total with a triumphant smile. It was far less than the original, but still made my stomach drop. Even pared down to the basics, the funeral would bankrupt me.

      Seeing my stricken face, he said, “You’re feeling overwhelmed, aren’t you?” He slid so close to me that our knees touched.

      I blotted tears from my eyes. “You don’t know the half of it.”

      “Believe me, I do. You’re vulnerable. Afraid.” Very softly, he began to rub my shoulder. “There’s nothing I hate to see more than the tears of a beautiful woman.” His other hand sought out my knee.

      My jaw dropped. What the hell was he doing? My first instinct was to slap his face. Then a thought blipped into my head like an instant-message popping up on a computer screen: You’re a succubus now. You’ve seduced him. Keep him on the hook, and you’ll get the funeral for free.

      The sinister presence in my head had returned, but this time, I recognized it. It belonged to my succubus, the demon inhabiting my mind. As Harold the undertaker stroked my knee and let his hand wander up my thigh, there was no more denying the truth. The trip to Hell, the meeting with Miss Spry and, worst of all, the contract made by Sarah Goodswain: it was all real.

      Next to me, Jasmine was too deep into her text conversation to notice what was happening. She laughed at something, then let her fingers clickety-click away at the minute keyboard.

      My succubus continued to urge me to use my allure to get what I wanted. It would be so easy. Harold was desperate for female attention, and with a bit of sweet talk and a few flirtatious touches, the funeral would be free. I could send my mother off in style and still afford to buy milk and bread.

      When Jasmine laughed at one of her texts, I was yanked back to reality. No way would I let Harold pull me into the nearest casket for a quick tumble in exchange for a free funeral. Trying to rein in the demon, however, was like attempting to stop an oncoming train. I might not want to seduce the undertaker, but the demon certainly did.

      Harold began stroking my hair and pulled my hand towards his crotch. Yes, the succubus told me. NO, I insisted. When my hand slid further down Harold’s leg, I wondered which of us was in command: me or the demon. I increased my struggle, fighting to gain control. Finally, I sent a mental command to the succubus like it was a dog: Down girl!! I’m the one in charge!

      For a moment, nothing happened. Then the demon responded with a furious quiver. She had a lot of influence over me, but apparently I had the final say. Relieved, I mentally stuffed my inner monster back into the dark corner of my mind. Once again, I was plain old Lilith.

      With the demon’s allure gone, Harold blinked as if waking from a deep sleep. Thoroughly shaken, I disentangled myself and grabbed a tissue to wipe sweat from my forehead. I couldn’t deny the facts. I was no longer alone inside my own head. Miss Spry had been right; I was now part demon.

      Jasmine finally noticed what was happening. “Oh my God!” She dropped her phone and leapt to her feet. “Are you groping my sister?”

      Harold yanked away as if he’d been burned. “No!” He

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