## Leslie POV I heard the tapping of his cane before I saw him. In hindsight, I should have prepared for this: prepared what I might say, what story I might tell that would not invite scrutiny, when the fog inevitably conjured this *particular* piece of my past. Honestly, after the last delusion, it was probably stupid of me to have re-entered the dream smoke at all — especially with company, *especially* with Solomon. But I wanted a hand in the deal with Pris, and so I rushed on ahead and did the stupid thing, and I hadn’t prepared for the worst. My hand flew to the dreamcatcher, but I resisted the impulse to banish the vision right then and there. No, no, come on now. There was no need to be hasty. What was I so afraid of? I could bear one little conversation, surely — and if he began to say too much, I had an easy out. Jonny’s favor was proving to have its benefits. I willed myself to relax. He approached the three of us with leisurely purpose, studded cane in one hand and an oversized check in the other (addressed to Emil, I could see — the ways this magic found to intertwine our dreams were nothing if not fascinating). He raked his eyes over me, let the look linger just a beat too long for comfort, and smiled a familiar, glittering smile: “I say, I say, I say. What a beautiful race that was\! Lovely work out there, incredible stuff.” He shook Emil’s hand, then Solomon’s. He did not shake mine. It was… strange, seeing him again. I’d had five long years to decide how to feel about Oleander Lovelace. About the devil who plucked me from the dead-end life I’d dreaded since I was a child, made me over into a new man, and then tricked me into a life on the run. Of course a part of me resented him. I mean, who wouldn’t? But I wasn’t so self-pitying as to settle for that. I couldn’t deny that I owed him thanks for *something*, though exactly *what* I’d be hard-pressed to say. And I couldn’t claim to hate him, either — at least, not without a knot of embarrassment choking the feeling into oblivion. In the end, he’d only given me what I’d asked for. I couldn’t blame him for my failure to check my own work. I challenged him to a game he’d been playing far longer than I, (a game I’d learned by watching him,) and I lost; even if through gritted teeth, I had to respect fair play. …But I’d never before been tasked with feeling any of that face-to-face. Standing in front of him now — a little too bare in a dress *he* bought and all-too-conscious of it, and with company I’d hoped would never have to know his name — I suddenly didn’t know how to hold myself, what face I ought to be making. For a dizzying moment on a cliff I willed myself back from, I felt the tug of familiar instinct: of falling in step beside him, of smiling pretty and straightening my spine without being asked. Of judging my performance by the look in his eyes. “Mr. Malphus?” he greeted, and handed Solomon the oversized check with a hearty grin. “I mean, of course *you* should be the one bestowing this beautiful check from your law firm to the prize pool.” Laying the flattery on thick before Solomon even had a chance to speak — this really *was* the Oleander I knew. Solomon played along on cue, far more eagerly than I’d have liked. “Of course\! Pleased to meet you, uh— sorry, I must have missed your name. You’re Mr. …?” “Marquess Oleander,” he supplied with a lavish bow. “We’ve met\! Leslie’s employer?” (Something in my stomach twisted. He’d never known me as *Leslie*.) “You're Leslie's employer\! We must have, then.” “Of course\!” “My apologies.” “Leslie's the finest succubus I have in my arsenal,” Oleander said, and reached out to rustle my hair. “Such a lovely thing.” Solomon chuckled. “I can’t disagree\!” I laughed with open bitterness, at first — then bit it back. All this was… normal, wasn’t it? Business as usual, at least as it had been back then. It had always been part of the gig, for me to stand there and bat my eyes while Oleander spoke my praises and some other man leered and nodded along — someone we both meant to take advantage of, usually, but not every job could so gratify my dignity. Sometimes a client was just a client. And it wasn’t as though this portion of my résumé was news to Solomon; he’d known I was a succubus when he took me in. (It was one of the only things he’d *ever* known about me.) So why were these crossed wires making me queasy? Standing here on the Vegas strip in my old clothes, my old body… hearing my new name from my old patron’s mouth, so easy and fond, as if this new life I’d wrung out for myself was still *his* and I’d left nothing behind at all. Watching him recognize Solomon as someone like himself, and the two of them together look at me like something *else* — like it didn’t matter that neither of them owned me now, because that had never been more than a formality. Like nothing had changed. And maybe I was silly to have ever thought it might. —And then Solomon tossed me a smug sort of look, and I could all but hear the unspoken remark: *This is the guy you used to work for? Yeah, that makes sense.* …Perhaps I should have been miffed at that. I mean, I suppose I was. But I found the cliff suddenly retreating. Of course, of course… this specter of my past wasn’t real. So rubbing elbows with Oleander just to look for my reaction — Solomon was just amusing himself. At my expense, sure, but… there was a sideways sort of acknowledgement in that, wasn’t there? To be known well enough to be taunted. Here, Solomon and I were the same; Oleander was something else. (And that *was* a strange thought, wasn’t it? He was only a dream, no matter how firm his hand on me felt. I could say whatever I wished here, could please him or disappoint him or anger him; it didn’t matter, because he could do nothing for me — or *to* me — now. That was an alien feeling. It had never *not mattered* before.) “Yes, well… now you’ve met,” I muttered, half to myself, as a self-satisfied Solomon drew away to congratulate Emil on the prize he’d just supposedly won. I followed and hovered — watched Emil in his dream-conjured racing gear fend off reporters with an impressive slew of nothings. I tried to look occupied, but I wasn’t fully listening. I could still feel Oleander’s eyes on me, steady, measuring. Appraising. The sensation had never bothered me so much. In hindsight, maybe it should have… but, I suppose, I was bright-eyed and desperate back then. I hadn’t yet learned that even from a man of rank, not all approval is made equal. I understand that now. ## Jonny POV I worked on Sandra’s preferred second and third course in the serene, grassy dreamscape of the vast American prairie. The second course was Uncle Joe’s apple pie, which came out perfectly. I decided to prepare the third course as well and bring them out together, as I guessed that it was easier to face Pris’s wrath and wrangle Sandra into control once rather than twice. The first attempt at the third course, an ice cream sundae with treachery sauce, went awry with the sauce bubbling like hot lava and melting the ice cream. Before I could give it another try, Leslie came by and asked to borrow my dreamcatcher so that he and Solomon could try to convince Pris once more to leave Sandra’s body willingly. I was a little suspicious of letting the dreamcatcher near Solomon, since he could be in cahoots with Pris, who asked to see him instead when I pressed her on whether Sandra was manipulated into their contract. But I trusted Leslie to keep an eye on Solomon’s machinations and keep the dreamcatcher safe, so I handed him the dreamcatcher after a brief tutorial on how to use it correctly. As Leslie and Solomon walked into the dream mist in the dining area, I saw a glimpse of Eden walking side by side with Solomon in Leslie’s place, as she had the few times I saw her in court in the aftermath of that last trip to Vegas. After the events of Halloween, I had thought Solomon like a defanged snake now that Eden knows the truth of his infernal nature and willingness to take advantage of those like her through magical means. But the dream mist was cruel enough to show a romantic tint to their interaction. Could Solomon have used his other seductive wiles to charm and manipulate her and attach her to himself? Despite the unreliability of dreams, the thought alarmed me and I felt a creep of antsiness up my spine. Definitely something to keep an eye on, though far from certain. And – as her form briefly flashes to that of Leslie’s – what of Leslie? Is he vulnerable to falling for Solomon’s verbal traps as well? Should I have gone with them to GreenHaven or to Pris right now to make sure Leslie is safe? I saw a brief flash of a dream-addled world where Solomon had taken Eden away already, and then Leslie as well, leaving me with, well, nobody at all really who gives me a second glance. But no, this would not be that world if I can help it. The second attempt at the sundae with treachery sauce went a lot better with Isha’s help. When it was done, I saw that I had imbued it with a touch of wish magic: the wish for Sandra to escape possession safely and recover smoothly; the wish for Sandra to reach out to Eden, who she seems to not have spoken to for years and who probably missed her; and the wish that, seeing my part in rescuing her friend and former bridesmaid, Eden (ever generous and forgiving Eden, who somehow still has it in her to be concerned about my safety) would start to come around to the idea that despite the danger involved in my work with infernal creatures, it is a necessary and worthy risk that I must shoulder to keep those like Sandra who stumble upon the supernatural safe. When Solomon and Leslie returned to the kitchen with Emil in tow, the dream magic had put Leslie in a little velvet dress with a fur shawl. When I got over the shock of seeing the outfit on him, I immediately clocked onto Solomon’s presence and started undoing my apron to try to cover him up from Solomon’s leering eyes. But Leslie assured me that he was fine and that they and Pris had reached an agreement. Pris would vacate Sandra’s body willingly and loosely possess Emil for 24 hours until we bring her to a meeting where a new body would be provided for her. Solomon had drafted the contract, but Leslie had looked it over (and spotted a grievous loophole\! Solomon’s really falling off). The actual exorcism went relatively smoothly. Sandra came to the forefront to enjoy her order. Afterwards, she thanked me and asked after Eden. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that we were currently separated (though, I hope, not for too much longer). Then Cherry brought over Marsha and the MOO. I made sure that Sandra had Eden’s phone number saved so that she could reach out to her friend when ready, and she was taken in by MOO. Then, I took out my phone and texted Eden the basics of Sandra’s ordeal, a head’s up so that she knew to expect Sandra at some point, and an offer to meet up again so that I could give her more details (and, although I didn’t say this, so that I could see if my help in saving Sandra would be enough for me to convince her to go out with me again). And then it was time to wrap up the shift, clean up, and head home. Back at my apartment, I pinned a new piece of paper to the corner of one of my evidence cork boards. On it, I drew two columns and wrote in coded script: | Is Leslie gay? | Is Leslie straight? | | :---- | :---- | | \- Kissed Solomon (though, as he clarified, it was only due to the mistlefoe) | \- Had a girlfriend in high school | | \- Hair/accessories/general appearance (although this could be deceiving: I too wear long hair and earrings, and yet I love women. It is the 21st century now and a man doesn’t need to be a macho, domineering brute to be straight.) | \- Dated/kissed then broke up with (?) his coworker Gloriosa (probably parted on bad terms: he seemed upset to see them kissing and the dream magic showed him her in chains?) | | \- Kissed me on the cheek when I changed the dream away from his kiss with his ex (?) (Perhaps an unknown devil custom between allies/compatriots?) | | The possibility that my roommate might be gay (combined with the identity of the person he had been kissing) had been so startling to me when I first saw Leslie kiss Solomon during the Christmas-themed collective dream that I had to go to Leslie afterwards to assert my allyship no matter his sexuality and my concern over the potential target of his attraction. But he had assured me that he had no actual desire to kiss Solomon independent of the mistlefoe. It was only later that I realized that he didn’t clarify that he wasn’t gay. But, by now, having seen evidence of Leslie in at least one if not two real relationships with women, I was leaning towards thinking that Leslie was likely straight after all. Still, to avoid the possibility of future misunderstandings and in the interest of better understanding my roommate, I made a mental note to keep an eye out for more evidence in either direction. I turned around and saw Leslie watching me. He asked me what I was taking notes on, and I reassured him that he needn’t worry. He seemed embarrassed the first time I asked after his sexuality, and I wanted to be a bit more certain before asking again. He then complimented me on my resourcefulness in saving him from the dream-tiger by catching it over its head with my net. I mentioned that I learned a few things from my cryptid hunting expeditions, and he said that he could learn something from me. When was the last time someone had looked at me, and my dedication to studying supernatural phenomena, as something worthy of praise and recognition? It must have been the earlier years of my marriage to Eden, back before I started coming back from hunts empty-handed and receiving rejection letters to ever-growing disappointment. And before her – nothing. My mom, loving as she is, never showed much interest in my pursuits. Eden was the first to cheer me on, the first who cared to look and see beyond the surface, the first who chose me out of her own free will – for a time at least. And now Leslie was the second. I must have beamed so wildly at him. Then, Leslie asked me what I knew of succubi. I had seen the term in some 16th century tome, translated from German. A succubus, I thought, gained their magic from drinking certain… secretions… of humans. But given Leslie’s sputter, something had gotten lost in translation, and he explained that a succubus was simply devil of lust, who gets a power boost from inspiring lust in humans. And then, with a shift of magic that turned his normal outfit into the velvet minidress from the dream mist, he revealed that he himself was a succubus\! I guess that explained his feminine look – maybe it was a natural succubus trait, or maybe it was a strategic choice to help him appeal to more humans for magic and didn’t have anything to do with his sexuality. I made a mark by the second bullet of the “gay” column. And then he asked if I could help him strengthen his magic. I immediately protested. Leslie was far from unattractive, and in fact was quite beautiful and unusually feminine with his delicate frame, glossy hair, and catlike eyes. (Just a few days ago before Halloween, I would have compared his looks to Eden’s, but perhaps I just missed her and was grasping for straws.) But I couldn’t do anything like hook up with him, I wasn’t gay\! But then Leslie shifted his magic again, and suddenly he filled out his dress in a much more feminine silhouette. I loved Eden, I protested. What would she think if she knew what I was up to with Leslie? I would know, of course, that I am simply helping out a friend with a magic issue and that there is no romantic or sexual attachment between me and Leslie that would conflict with a rekindling of my relationship with Eden. But would she, upstanding and proper as she is, look at it the same way? Leslie pressed himself onto me, backing me up against the wall. Suddenly my phone rang. In my scramble to answer it, I accidentally smashed a vase, and it had stopped ringing by the time I plucked it from the shards. Eden had called. Had she seen my texts about Sandra? Does she want to meet up? I called back a few times. No reply. And then Eden texts back that it was a mis-call but we should catch up, and I reply with my available times. When I looked up again, Leslie was still waiting, lounged on our bed in his female form, watching me like a cat. Briefly, I thought of Sandra’s words to me (earlier today, which felt like weeks ago) inside the dreamscape of my wedding reception, where she warned me about contracting with and befriending devils. Of course, I had replied, it is a devil’s nature to lie and trick others to pursue their self-interested aims. A devil is dangerous when their aims run contrary to yours, especially if you go into a contract unaware of those true aims. But Leslie’s arrangement with me had always been one of mutual benefit that I entered clearsighted: he gets to stay on the surface as my roommate, and I get a roommate who could help split the rent. So now he’s asking for a little help with his magic. That’s all. And if I can also enjoy the process? I’ll stop when I get back with Eden, just in case. I asked him what he needs from me as a succubus. He told me it’s whatever inspires me, and kissed me. I hesitantly, then more enthusiastically, kissed him back. We didn’t make it all the way today before I tapped out early. I was a little embarrassed and apologized, but Leslie assured me that it was perfect, and then he was back to his old, casual self without the seductive persona. I breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing has changed. Nothing needs to change. This is just one more arrangement of mutual benefit, only until Eden gets back to me, until I can show her the good that I am doing in my studies and work, until I can ask her out again with the promise that this time, I can fully bring her along in this world of magic and mystery. I can also rework Leslie’s contract, then, to let me sponsor his stay on the surface with no conditions. I hope that he will continue to be my friend. I had almost fallen asleep when I suddenly sat up in bed. It’s been a while since I last had a crack at divination. The last time, my tarot card pulls had led me down a string of disastrous bets that ended in that Vegas casino where I lost Eden. Maybe I was going about it the wrong way, or maybe the baseline odds were so stacked in the house’s favor that even magic couldn’t overcome them. But now that I have this powerful implement on hand… what insights could it bring in my dreams tonight?