LITMIR.BIZ

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They say we spew a weird babble. They call us fanatics. But they are wrong. It is our mission to displace such wild fanaticism with a living, breathing Christianity.’”

      Yawn.

      He rolled on, preaching his message amid a hundred hallelujahs, saying that the only true sign of a second Grace was when God Himself entered your body and allowed you to speak in a tongue that the Almighty Himself understands. Et cetera. He called for testimony, and soon the humans were standing, decrying their sins, begging forgiveness and for the power of the Almighty to wash them clean. More clapping, more shouting from the congregation.

      Yawn, again.

      “Aren’t they fascinating?”

      I arched a brow at Jezebel, whose face was entranced as she watched the humans make fools of themselves. “They’re idiots, being led by a half-blind religious faker.”

      “You’re so certain he’s a charlatan?”

      “He’s a magus,” I said, shrugging. No more needed to be said. Magicians were shifty, and they tasted like mildew. “His power over these mortals has nothing to do with religion. It’s all hypnosis. Suggestion.”

      “It’s amusing. Listen—that one’s speaking in tongues.”

      I listened. A dowdy woman spewed utter gibberish, shaking as if she were falling apart. “That’s chatter and clicks. That’s no language at all.”

      Next to me, Jezebel sighed, petulant. “You’re ruining my fun.”

      “Babes,” I said, stroking the swell of her ass, “you know what I consider fun.”

      She turned to regard me, and I saw something delicious and altogether evil dance in her eyes. Her lips pulled into a smile filled with promise. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

      Oh-ho. I cocked my head, waited to see what she’d do next.

      She turned her attention to the crowd, and I watched her blow out a breath, a puff of power, watched that bit of magic float over the room and slowly settle on a handful of people. They shuddered, then as one they let out peals of laughter. One elder fell to the floor, his ancient body riddled with spasms as the laughter tore through him.

      “Not usually the sound I aim for,” I said.

      Jezebel smiled, all innocence. “A little tickle before the slap. Your turn. Try to be subtle.”

      Subtle? Where was the fun in that?

      More of the humans slowly fell sway under Jezebel’s power, their giggles and chortles and guffaws riding the air along with the praises to the Lord and the declarations of their sin being washed away.

      Their leader banged his fist on the pulpit, pronounced their delight a sign of “holy laughter” and commanded his congregation not to resist the power. “It will go through you like a wave of electricity. And when you feel it, give way! Surrender yourselves to the power! Let His power fill you, thrill you!”

      Well, who was I to pass up such an invitation? I spread my arms wide and pushed.

      As my power touched them, the mortals shivered, ahhed. Some it passed over completely; those people were the truly good, the humans slated for Heaven—ones even the promise of lust could not tempt. Alas. Those frigid mortals watched their brethren succumb to fleshly excitement, and they covered their mouths and widened their eyes as they beheld the physical joy denied them. Poor fools. One could only hope that one day their innate passion would melt the ice around their heart. And then they would dance in the Bonfire of the Heartlands. For now, they watched, they whispered. And the seeds of temptation were planted.

      As for the ones who held some evil in their souls, they felt my touches, my caresses, and they threw their heads back and cried out in glee, their huzzahs and shouts like music; they swayed and staggered and hiccupped with giggles, inebriated with the power of lust; they dropped to the floor and bucked and kicked, fornicating with lovers only they could see and feel; they leapt up and danced in wanton abandon. With every moan of ecstasy, every delighted gasp that relished the pleasure I bestowed upon them, I tasted them—just a lick, a little nibble of their souls.

      Mmm. They were delicious. Amazing. Orgasmic.

      “Just like a man,” Jezebel said. “Getting them tanked up before going for what’s in their pants.”

      “Who, me? Would I do that?”

      “I’d suggested subtle. Look at them. They’re loaded.”

      “Drunk in the Holy Spirit.”

      “You.”

      We turned to see the magus standing before us, his one good eye fierce with righteous ire and holy thunder. He pointed a finger at us and bellowed, “What are you, you who stand here in this place of God?”

      Fuck. I hate the magi.

      Jezebel stepped forward, first one delicate foot and then the other, running her gloved hands over the abundant curves of her torso, the swells of her hips. “I? I’m but a painted Jezebel, come to witness the saving of souls. Are you saving them, Preacher?”

      I bit back a laugh. Damnation, how I adored her…

      “You have no place here, demon spawn!” The magus barely stammered. If I cared at all, I would have respected that. He shouted, “Get you gone!”

      “Oh, but Preacher,” I said, “your congregation needs you. Look at them, lost little lambs, waiting for their shepherd to lead them home. So many things could happen to lost lambs, Preacher. So many things to tempt them off the path.” I grinned, big big big, allowed my fangs to flash in a moment of clarity.

      The magus trembled, but his feet remained rooted to the floor. Either foolhardy, or too terrified to move. Either was fine with me. “Get thee behind me, Satan!”

      “We’re not that one,” I said. “And from where I’m standing, you don’t seem to have anyone on your side, Preacher. It’s just you, and us two.”

      I spoke truly (which I did not make a custom of); none of the humans had come to his side to stand with him as he faced off the minions of Hell. No, those godly people were too busy feeling the throes of ecstasy (or standing agog as they watched the fully clothed orgy around them) to notice our holy showdown. As far as we were concerned, it was just Seymour and we two Seducers.

      If he wasn’t a magus, I’d have eaten him for brunch. But I preferred sweeter tastes on my tongue.

      “You’re strong enough to resist temptation,” Jezebel purred, her hand reaching out, now touching the mortal’s thigh. “Aren’t you? You’re strong enough to lead them to the Light.”

      His voice strangled, the magus intoned, “I shall fear no evil.”

      “As you say, sweetie.” Jezebel leaned forward to whisper in his ear, words that I heard clearly, even over the din of copulation and salvation: “Why don’t you scuttle back to your altar, Preacher, and determine how to turn this to your advantage? Unless you want it known that your entire flock fell under a power quite different than your so-called baptism.”

      He paled, and sweat beaded on his brow.

      “Go on now,” Jezebel said, planting a kiss on his gray cheek. “You’ve got work to do.”

      She released him, and he staggered backward, his good eye glassy and fearful, his mouth agape. Then he turned and ran to his pulpit, which he clutched as if it could shield him. Taking in the scene around him, he blew out a breath, then a second, and finally drew himself high.

      “You feel it, don’t you?” he asked, addressing his followers. “Waves of power, overwhelming you. That’s a foretaste of Heaven!”

      Heh. Really? Jezebel and I exchanged a bemused look.

      He declared: “You’ve given yourself to the power of the Holy Spirit! Don’t resist the power of the Lord! Let it fill you! Let your bodies sway and faint, let your

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