The Gift

Close, but not quite correct. Loup de l'ombre scratched her head as she thought of how to phrase the comment she wanted to leave. A stack of scrolls spread over the table, yesterday's homework assignments for her mate, Yuri Gregorov's Dark Spells classes. She enjoyed grading the homework, something she would never admit. The exercises gave her a way to share her knowledge of the Dark Arts and also endlessly amused her. She knew that Gregorov tended to wander a bit during his lectures and the answers to the homework assignment seemed to indicate that he had never touched on the complimentary spells that could be worked to achieve better results. Drumming her pen on the tabletop, she made a mental note to talk to him about it that evening.

A scuff of shoe leather on the gritty hallway floor alerted her to someone's arrival. The red jacket marked her visitor as part of Durmstrang's staff. Ashen-faced and smelling of fear, he slunk into the Dark Arts Department's staff room. Looking about furtively, he approached her, averting his gaze as the black within black eyes swept over him. "I have a letter for you," he muttered as he held out an envelope. With a small gesture, Loup indicated he should leave it on the table in front of her. Nervously, he tossed the envelope onto the scarred table's surface and it skidded to a halt close to her. She snorted a laugh as the man backed out of the room and grinned as she heard the sound of his running feet.

Pushing back her long, dark hair, she rose from her chair and stood off to one side, carefully examining the missive. Her name had been written on the front in bold letters: "Loup de l'ombre". It had been a while since the last client had called for her. The peaks around Durmstrang saw few strangers and even her reputation was not sufficient to bring work from a distance. There were more than enough Dark Arts practitioners who lived closer to the population centers. After weeks of enforced idleness, the idea of paid work was pleasant.

Almost lazily, she cast an Exhibeo spell, holding her breath briefly as the effects came to light. No spells shone on the paper. Unless it was poisoned, it was probably safe. Just short of touching it, she stopped and chastised herself for her lack of paranoia. Not safe yet. As a sort of exercise, she made herself to go through a mental checklist of all the things that, done to a piece of paper, could hurt or kill. The list got longer as she forced herself to think through the exercise. As an added precaution, she cast a Confirmare to verify the safety. There were other spells to try; however, those two seemed to be enough.

The contents of the letter were anticlimactic: "Tavern 2 PM "

Cryptic, but that was the norm. The fact that it specified the tavern suggested a less formal presentation than she enjoyed. She liked the trappings of the Dark Arts. The billowing black robes, the carefully hooded face, the protective black gloves, the spell that sent her whispered words into a display over her head added an ambiance that made the work all the more satisfying.

A quick Tempus spell showed the hour to be 11AM. There was still plenty of time to finish another cup of coffee and to work through the rest of the homework.

* * *

She dressed carefully for her meeting, knowing that the villagers didn't like to see anything that looked too odd. Black slacks were topped with a black sweater, bundled under a long, black coat, and finished with one of her many pairs of black boots. All the clothes were black. They matched the eyes.

The guards were only slightly grumpy with her. Timing had never been one of her strong points, and she managed to arrive during their shift change. Taking a seat on one of the benches in the guardroom, she watched them do what looked like an arcane ritual: reports were exchanged, paperwork moved from cubbyhole to desktop. It moved at a stately pace that refused to be hurried. The last paper filed, the door was unlocked.

The Portkey room was small and smelled strongly of mildew. She opened the window a crack before touching the huge key perched upon a tall stool. In a heartbeat, she found herself in a very similar room with the same familiar smell. Wrinkling her nose, she opened the window. With a start, she noted that it looked out only onto a grayness. No air moved into the room and there was no scent from outside. Repectfully, she closed the small window and left.

At mid afternoon, the tavern was almost empty. With her back to the wall, she searched for her prospective client. There were only a few people standing at the long bar and, bent over a chessboard, two white-haired men sat at a table near the door. Empty tables seemed to be the rule. Scanning one more time and finding no one suitable, she folded her arms over her chest, annoyed.

The tavern seemed to be made up of one large, dark room closely packed with tables and mismatched chairs. A long wooden bar made up most of the wall closest to the door. There was another door across the room from her, but she had never seen it open and it was shut now. Walking forward, she noticed a small open staircase that ascended behind the bar. A pair of feet could be seen at the point where the stairs disappeared into the wall. Keeping her eyes down to avoid attention, she continued towards the bar, feeling the men watch her. At the base of the stairs, she stopped and waited.

"Who called for le loup de l'ombre?" she asked quietly, almost a whisper, half hoping that no one would respond.

"Up here," a woman's voice responded.

The bartender looked up from his newspaper, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth spiraling smoke upwards. With a sneer, he pushed something under the counter and the door to the stair opened wide.

She almost smiled. The Muggles had their own magic. Her boots clicked softly on the wooden treads as she walked up the stairs into a gloom. The staircase ended at a dark landing where three doors stood closed and a small hall led around to the right. She peered down the hall, exhaling in a hiss when an open door caught her eye. Squaring her shoulders, she palmed her wand and readied a shield spell - just in case.

The open door led into a pleasant room. The walls were paneled in a light-colored wood that lit the area from the reflected sunlight. It was furnished simply with two wooden chairs at a small round table. A woman stood with her back to the door, staring out into the day.

Loup stopped at the door and inhaled deeply, catching and categorizing the scents inside. The woman smelled of expensive perfume and makeup, of automobile exhaust and of tears. The other human scents were fainter, older - telling of the man who had unlocked the door and of a maid from even earlier. Loup spent a lot of time shifted into her wolf form and her sense of smell, already heightened from the Animagus spell, was especially acute. With her eyes locked on the woman, she cast a detecting Exhibeo, glancing quickly for any spells readied to catch her unawares. Nothing. She eyed the doorjamb, trying to find any trip wires or electric eyes. The exhaust smell worried her. It spoke of someone who had arrived by car, not Floo powder, which had its own odd scent, nor the outdoor smell of the unlikely arrival by broom or even by foot. Cocking her head to one side, she wondered what a Muggle would want with her. She rarely worked for them, finding them quick to disbelieve her results and often quarrelsome about paying.

"You called for me?" Loup asked, her voice pitched as low as possible.

The woman turned, hands held tightly behind her back. The prospective client was elegant, a woman in her forties who was used to fine things and money. Slight of build, her dark, carefully styled hair looked almost too big for her face. A large diamond flashed from her left hand and a heavy gold chain spoke of grand tastes, confirmed by a dress of teal silk. "You are le loup de l'ombre? A woman?"

Loup was taken aback. Her sex generally meant nothing to a client; it was only in the Muggle world that it seemed to matter. "Yes. Why did you call for me?"

The client stepped forward to meet her. Pacing slowly around Loup, she left a cloud of perfume in her wake. "I understand that you are for hire? That you are a practitioner of the Dark Arts. Is this so?"

Loup said nothing, insulted by the tone of voice.

"I wish to hire someone. Someone who is powerful enough to call and control. Your name was the only one I could find in this area."

"There are others, if you would prefer a man," Loup replied coldly.

"No. The others would be of no use. My information indicates that you will do. I had not expected a woman." The client sounded thoughtful, as if trying to reach a decision. "I feel that perhaps a woman would be a better choice." She looked Loup over carefully again. "I understand that the black eyes tell of how little there is left of your soul." The client moved over to the little table and indicated that Loup should have a seat.

Cautiously, Loup approached, hesitating until the other woman sat first. "May I ask what sort of work we're talking about? There are things I won't do. Not many, but some," she added the last with a cold smile.

"I need a powerful witch. One with little pity. One who can watch and report back to me. Do you have access to the school?" The smaller woman's voice could have been made of ice.

"Which one?" Somehow, Loup knew which one, but it needed to be said.

"The Durmstrang Institute. I do not know how to get there myself. My informant says that you do." The client's hard brown eyes stared at Loup as she twisted her diamond ring.

"Yes. I have access. Who is the target? What is the contract?" Loup's face was expressionless as the deal unfolded.

"A professor in the Dark Arts department. I wish something that is a fitting punishment, something that is so fair it will be difficult for him to feel the trap. Do you understand, witch?" The client yanked at her ring so hard that red lines appeared in the pale flesh. "Do you? "

" I do. I need it spelled out a bit more. Which professor? How fitting, or is that for me to determine? How often do you want reports? How far do you want me to go?" Loup leaned on her elbows, hissing the questions.

The client looked away, still twisting at her ring, deciding how badly she wanted this thing to happen. The noise from the village rumbled softly below. Cars could be heard growling their way through the streets, an occasional horn sounding. A dog barked. A siren wailed. A baby cried. At the last sound, the client rubbed her eyes, her shoulders hunched.

Loup waited. Having seen several deals fall apart at this time, she knew better than to say anything. At this point, she had wasted an hour. This moment decided a great deal.

"The professor's name is Kessler, Siegfried Kessler. Do you know him?"

Loup had to fight the urge to laugh. She knew him. He was her mate's friend and a man she held in contempt on many levels. Struggling not to show any emotion, she answered, "Yes."

"Do you know what kind of man he is? That he takes children to his bed?" the client spat the questions, her face gone rigid.

"I know he sleeps with his students."

"I wish him to be taken by someone or something who can drain him. Drain him of his lust, of everything." The woman's eyes blazed as she fought down the sobs.

"How far do you want me to go? I will need to know before I proceed."

"Report back to me regularly. I will let you know when to stop." The voice caught, sounding ragged. She fumbled with her purse, pulling out a tissue, but not to dry her eyes. Instead, she carefully smoothed at her makeup. The motions seemed to soothe her. A compact appeared and she inspected her eyes closely.

"Do you have any particular thing you want me to do or am I free to proceed as I wish?" Loup's mind filled with possibilities, many bordering on gruesome, others merely amusing.

"I want to give him the gift he has wanted for so many years. Can you call someone or something to match his vile tastes? I want him to get exactly what he has always wanted. Do we understand each other, witch?"

Loup understood. Understood very well. She gave into the temptation to snort a small laugh. "It will require several spells, at least a week of set up time and then regular work throughout to control... it. Expensive work."

"I have money. I want you to report to me. I want to know he suffers. He must want this. It should be irresistible. I don't want him to be able to walk away from it unmarked. Can you do it?"

"I can. It will be expensive."

"I can pay. My family is wealthy. I will pay 25,000 Deutsche Marks. Is that enough?"

Loup swallowed and did the conversion in her head. The equation was awkward as she converted Deutsche Marks to Francs, then to Galleons, stumbling along the way. The pause worked to her favor.

"50,000. I want regular reports. If I want something changed, I will let you know. Do not stop until I tell you to do so? Are we agreed?"

Black eyes looked up and a sliver of a smile crept across Loup's face. "We are agreed."

* * *

Siegfried Kessler waited for the last student to leave his classroom. The day was over, but the evening held little promise of joy. He had a pile of homework to grade before he could relax. The backlog had grown too large to ignore any longer. Locking the door behind him, he looked around the dungeon's hallways, hoping to see Yuri Gregorov. Low voices rumbled from Gregorov's classroom. The sounds lured him into the room, a smile forming on his face, quickly fading as the other voice proved to be Gregorov's mate, Loup. Kessler's smile transformed into a deep frown. Loup had put an end to a lot of the fun the two men had shared. She always put her own needs first, dragging Gregorov out to hunt or nagging about homework to be graded. Gregorov hardly ever had a drink with him any more. The bitch disapproved of it. Disapproved of almost everything fun he could think of.

Kessler managed a curt wave before leaving. It seemed to him that the woman had a strange smile on her face, but who knew with Loup? She seemed to find the oddest things funny.

He lingered in the main hall, watching the students mill around, enjoying the pretty girls and flirting with several of them. Beautiful girls were one of his greatest pleasures. He loved them and they loved him. Working at Durmstrang had few monetary benefits; however, there were other benefits that made it worth staying.

He loitered, striking up a conversation with Professor Heiniger from the Defense Against the Dark Arts department. Heiniger was a retired Auror and frequently had good stories. Today, he seemed to be in a hurry and annoyed when Kessler shared his newest assortment of jokes. Still, it passed the time until dinner.

Still hauling his briefcase full of homework with him, Kessler walked into the Great Hall and took his customary seat at the end of the table. He could stretch his long legs out and, if he turned the bench slightly, could lean against the wall. The rest of the staff wandered into the room in ones and twos. The Americans, Jones and Wronski, pointedly waited until everyone else had sat down before taking their places at the other end. Gregorov and Loup were missing. He pointed at the place they usually sat and asked where the two were with an arch of his eyebrow.

"Hunting," Wronski answered.

Kessler felt let down. Once again, the two wolves had left to hunt on their own, leaving him behind. He blamed the woman, forgetting how seldom he liked to shift into his other form. The bear was cumbersome, unlike himself. It had been a useful exercise and was now something he preferred not to do.

Dinner arrived, carried in by two staff members. The platters had barely touched the table before the professors fell upon it. Kessler speared a large part of the meat and ignored the bowls of vegetables. Knife poised, he stared across the room one more time, taking note of the far left table where there were two particularly pretty girls he was interested in. As he admired them, another came into view. A warm feeling flowed over him as he watched her move.

The new girl was someone he had never seen before. He would have remembered her. She was a redhead; long auburn hair puddled on her shoulders before flowing down her back. The shapeless red robes hinted at curves. Her eyes smiled as she looked at him. Beautiful. It was almost as if he had taken her scent during a hunt. He forgot his food as he ogled her.

The girl stopped at the table he had been watching and, with one hand, pushed her hair back and, with the other, brushed down the front of her robe, the curves accentuated all the more. Kessler's world narrowed, focused only on her.

Rose Jones, who usually found Kessler's fascination with the young women of Durmstrang disgusting, snickered. She and Wronski huddled together, looking up occasionally as they dissected Kessler's display. The Lowensteins watched him with smiles, too. Ludwig looked especially amused. De Rais' expression was distant. Rabe tried to get someone to explain to what was so funny and was annoyed when he received smirks as the only answer. With a shrug, Kessler returned to his perusal of the girl.

She didn't sit at the table. Instead, she glided around the long table, displaying herself from all angles. She moved gracefully, as if floating instead of walking. Her robes seemed to be made of a softer wool than the others as they clung to places on her body. When she smiled, Kessler salivated. He didn't know who she was, but he was going to find out.

* * *

* * *

Kessler couldn't find her after dinner. No one seemed to know which division she belonged to, but all the men remembered her. Someone mentioned that they thought she was taking classes in the Dark Arts. He couldn't remember ever seeing her before. Maybe she had transferred in - something that almost never happened and the faculty would have heard about.

He wandered the corridors, thinking she might need to go to one of the libraries for a research project. After several circuits, he was disappointed; the beautiful girl was not to be seen.

Her face stayed in his memory as he walked across the grounds towards the Dark Arts' building. Fantasies of her body played out in his mind, growing more detailed with each iteration.

The building's door squealed in protest when he opened it. The wood was still swollen from the winter's snows. Kessler shoved it back into place and stomped his feet out of habit.

The staff room had its usual murmur. He paused in the doorway long enough to see who was there. No Gregorov, but the rest were present. Haken glanced up and waved from his spot next to the fire. The quills hung over today's homework as the grading spells were begun. Kessler debated joining them. He liked being with the rest; however, what he really wanted to do was tell his friend about the new student, and Gregorov wasn't back yet. Undoubtedly, Loup was forcing him to hunt further than normal. The deer were still too far south, but she truly enjoyed chasing the rabbits. No telling when they would be back.

Feeling slightly put out, he went down to his office at the end of the hallway and passed though his wards. The flame color of her hair seemed to hover over the door. A rich female smell tickled his nose. His body reacted as if she stood there, warm and ready. It was difficult to push the feelings away long enough to walk into his office. He felt as if she were somewhere close by. A lovely thought, but his rooms held no mysteries. He'd worked at the school for a decade and every place in the small area had been ferreted out. Everything had its place. The public rooms looked as he imagined a professor's should look like. All was orderly.

Ignoring his backlog of homework, he pulled off his coat and hung it behind the door. A hot bath was what he wanted, and a drink. He scratched his head, thinking about the bath when the scent hit him again. It got stronger the closer he got to his bedroom, maddening him with its intensity. When he opened the door, he almost expected to see her stretched out on his bed. The room was empty. The image remained, though. He had only to close his eyes to imagine her auburn hair spread out on the black duvet. The image was too vivid. When he opened his eyes fully, it seemed she was there, smiling up at him and holding out her hand. His hand met nothing when he reached for her. Ruefully, he shook his head and went to draw his bath.

The hot water steamed the mirror opaque in the small room. He filled the bathtub as full as he dared and, after placing a glass of brandy next to the tub, slipped into the relaxing heat. Closing his eyes, he let the heat creep over him, enjoying the gentle rhythm of the water. The brandy added to the warmth. The aroma filled his nostrils almost as much as the drink crept through his veins.

When the water cooled too much to enjoy soaking, he picked up a bar of soap. It felt odd, almost pliant. He opened his eyes and focused on it, seeing instead an elegant hand with sharp nails. Startled, he jerked back, sending water sloshing out of the tub. The image faded, leaving only a bar of soap in his hand. He eyed his glass of brandy, wondering if he had drunk more than he thought. The bottle had been full when he opened it, and he could see it perched on the top of the toilet, still almost full.

Kessler concentrated on the familiar steps of the bath. The hand image bothered him. Did the beautiful girl have nails like those? He played with a fantasy of having her in the bath with him, which was more than delightful.

Afterwards, in a fine mood, he thumbed through the folders of homework waiting for him and decided that it could be put off another day. With the lovely vision still playing through his head, he slid between his lurid red sheets and went to sleep.

* * *

"I don't know why we even bother to hold classes on May Day and the day after," Jones remarked to Wronski as they walked down the staircases to their dungeon classrooms.

"'Cause," Wronski answered as he played with a confiscated yo-yo.

Kessler followed behind the two, annoyed because they walked too slowly. Dreams of her had filled his night and morning. The frustration had been dealt with and now he hunted for the real thing. The whispers that she took classes in his area made him want to hurry down the stairs. Every landing made him more anxious. He breathed in deeply, hoping to catch her scent, since he could see nothing but the backs of Jones and Wronski as they trudged slowly down the steps.

At the bottom, Jones peeled off to the right to go to her classroom. Wronski continued to play with the toy, allowing Kessler to easily bypass the Potions teacher. He strode down the corridor, peering hopefully into every doorway. Each classroom was a disappointment. Lowenstein's class was full of women, many well worth admiring. There were beautiful girls waiting in Gregorov's room and even Wronski's held a few that were worth looking at, but none of them were she. She was the one he was hunting.

The usual knot of students stood outside his door, waiting for him. Digging the key ring out of his pocket, he joked with them. His jokes tended towards the risqué side, but sixth and seventh-years seemed to appreciate them. He didn't look around as he deposited his satchel onto the desk placed in the front of the room, removing a roll of parchment containing his notes, to be left on the podium to prompt him in the unlikely event that he needed it. The sheet containing the roll, however, was carefully placed where he could read it. Although the year was almost over, he had yet to learn all of the names. Fixing what he had always thought of as his best smile on his face, he turned to begin his lecture.

Her presence was almost a physical pain. She sat in the front row, smiling at him and only him. Big amber-colored eyes stared into his for a long moment, and then dropped to begin surveying him, swallowing him from the toes upwards. She leaned forward, a hint of skin showing at the neckline of her robe. He didn't have to see it, to know her body was everything he could ever want.

He tried to start his lecture, but no sound came out. All he could do was stare at the girl whose eyes hinted and whose lips teased. His class shuffled in their seats, amused at first and then bored by his inability to do anything but stare.

After fifteen minutes, students began to leave. He never noticed. One by one they left until the only souls left were his and hers. When the last student left, she rose from her desk, floating by the podium and reaching out a long nailed hand to caress his face. He grabbed for her and found nothing; only her exotic perfume lingered in the air.

It took the bells tolling the hour before he came to his senses, standing alone in his classroom, breathing hard.

* * *

The afternoon classes were cancelled, acknowledging the fact that no one was interested in learning anything that day. Most of the staff, faculty and students wandered around the lawns outside the main entrance. The tables had been set up and the bonfires arranged. As soon as it got dark enough to appreciate the effect, the fires were lit and the party began.

Kessler prowled the crowds, looking for the object of his obsession. An attractive witch from the Arithmancy Department wrapped herself around him suggestively. He turned her down as gently as possible, just in case he couldn't find the elusive beauty.

Those of his group who felt like participating had claimed a table. Someone had made certain that a good selection of food and liquor had found its way there. Wronski and Jones sat at one end, each sipping a beer. Gregorov was playing a game of chess with Lowenstein, who was several pieces in the lead. Kesslerstopped long enough to see that, with each piece captured, a shot of whiskey was drunk. He wondered where Loup was. Generally, she wouldn't allow Gregorov to drink. The thought of the interloper soured his mood so he turned again to seek the red-haired girl.

He circled the crowd twice before realizing she wasn't present. When his circle neared the Dark Arts building, a marvelous scent teased. He didn't question anything, turning instead to follow it into the building.

The staff room held only Haken grading his homework and the ever-reading de Rais. Boring, Kessler decided. The aroma caught him again and led him back to his own rooms. His mind blank, he walked through his wards and into his rooms, led into his bedroom by the wonderful scent.

There she was, just as he had imagined it the night before, naked and stretched out on his bed, her red hair fanned out on his black duvet. How she got there was irrelevant. She was there. He wanted her and she must have wanted him.

* * *

* * *

He missed all of his classes the next day, consumed by this new pleasure. She was everything he had hoped she would be, and more. He had always flattered himself about his skill, how he could meet any demand. Her hunger was greater than even his own, outstripping his abilities. She wanted him as often as he could respond and, when he grew tired, wanted him still. He amazed even himself with his performance that day, able to rise each time to satisfy them both.

The hours ticked by in enjoyment until, exhausted, he fell asleep.

His dreams were a sequence of erotic delights. Each dream seemed vivid, evoking all the senses. When the bells tolled for the morning, he woke to find himself alone in a bed that smelled of sex and sweat.

His muscles ached in ways they had not for decades. His knees were weak and his thighs ached. Flexing his arms, he winced as the triceps screamed and his forearms twinged with each movement. Although every muscle seemed to hurt a little, he allowed himself the indulgence of posing in front of his mirror, congratulating himself for his stamina.

He moved so slowly that he couldn't take the time for a leisurely bath and instead stood as long as he dared under the beating heat of the shower. Muscles relaxed, but everything felt tired and sore. Parts of him looked rather... irritated. That would pass. He dressed carefully, making sure that he looked especially handsome for his new amour.

By the time he staggered into the staff room, most of the coffee was gone. Rabe gave him a measured stare, seemingly readying himself to say something. Kessler shrugged the look off as he drained the last of the pot.

Amused faces watched him silently. Jones seemed to be sniggering in her corner of the room. Loup's expressionless face evaluated his every move. He pulled himself upright and returned the stares. Wronski motioned Jones to follow him and soon their hysterical laughter echoed in the long hall.

Gregorov looked up from the table, his half-finished cup of tea cooling before him. It seemed to cost the Russian a great deal of effort, but he managed to ask, "You will be joining us in the classrooms today?"

Kessler sneered for a moment and then seated himself across from his friend, eager to talk about the girl. Gregorov grimaced and pushed away from the table, not interested in hearing the blow-by-blow. Loup stayed, a small smile pushing its way through her attempt at a stoic expression. Perhaps she, too, waited for her chance.

Unbidden, the spicy perfume wafted through the room, drawing his attention back to the door. There she stood, auburn hair caught on some unseen breeze, eyes locked on his. As if he were a puppet, she drew him forward, his steps shuffling towards her. Her hand locked on his and drew him back down the hall.

"Is there time for another pot of coffee?" Loup asked, a twisted grin on her face.

* * *

He managed to make it to his afternoon classes. Looking disheveled and tired, he made a less-than-impressive sight when he delivered his lectures. Students eyed him, obvious scorn on their faces, as they took notes. He ignored the expressions as he finished up a section, assigning twice the amount of homework than usual to make up for lost time.

At dinner, he devoured everything that he could reach. The rest of the staff watched him bolt down food, keeping as far away as possible. His hands shook as he drank a glass of water and Magda asked if he was feeling well.

Seated at the far end of the table, Loup watched, too, taking note of every move and, when she could not help herself any longer, hiding her feral smile behind her hand.

The group had scarcely turned into their building when the girl stepped out to meet Kessler. He started to suggest that perhaps tomorrow would be a better time, but one look at her waiting body was enough to lead him down the hall. They slipped through the wards and into the depths of his rooms.

Jones began to laugh uncontrollably. Lowenstein's smile escalated into full-throated laughter. Loup had to pull a puzzled Gregorov into their quarters to avoid answering any questions. Only Haken remained outside of the staff room, looking at the closed door of Kessler's quarters as if expecting an answer to appear.

Inside his rooms, Kessler tried to protest that they needed to slow down. His lovely girl said nothing, her lips had other uses. Surpassing even his own expectations, he rose to the occasion again and again and again until he could remember nothing else.

* * *

* * *

Kessler looked like a zombie. De Rais' laugh sounded rough against the walls when that observation was made, commenting that he had raised healthier-looking zombies that were many months dead.

Each morning, the Dark Arts professors gathered. They had opted to make the best of the situation and started a betting pool as to what time Kessler would appear, how many of his classes he would miss, and whether he would get to eat lunch or dinner. Loup seemed to make the most money of the group as she always took the most pessimistic of the times and occurrences. The consensus was that he got what he deserved. The man's ego was legendary and grated on everyone, including Gregorov, who was the only one who called Kessler "friend".

Rabe's ire grew daily. The department head had tried to talk to Kessler about his performance in the classroom instead of the bedroom and had not managed to hold the teacher's attention. When it looked as though Rabe would be forced to take some administrative action, the girl's appearance became less frequent, disappearing for days at a time.

Gregorov tried to talk to his friend about the girl. At first, Kessler seemed happy to discuss his obsession. He didn't even know her name, but could describe her body in detail. Soon, he grew closemouthed, refusing to talk to anybody about her.

* * *

* * *

He had grown to fear the girl's appearances. She seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. If he searched for her, she was never found. He asked students which division she was in and found no answers. The Provosts looked at him as if he were something unpleasant they found on their shoes. He even tried asking in the administrative offices; however, his current performance in the classroom had rendered him a status beneath insect. No one had any information for him.

Going back to his offices became a nightmare. She would be there, getting through his wards somehow, waiting for him. She had no inhibitions at all. Anything he could think of, she was willing. She had ideas of her own, too, some of which were more outrageous than he had ever dreamt of. His rooms, normally tidy and ordered in his office and living area, became chaotic, a tangle of pillows and blankets. Glasses of wine and brandy stood on everywhere. Jars of interesting ointments took the few remaining flat spots or were scattered across the floors. He hated the way it looked, but there was no time to clean, no time to order the mess, no time for laundry, no time for anything save her. She was the most demanding mistress he had ever had, wanton and tireless.

One night, he tried sleeping on the staff room couch, but she came after him, mounting him as he fell asleep. Someone threw a pillow, waking him to the sight of her face looming lower. Embarrassed beyond words, a rare thing for him, he dragged her out of the room and into his own.

The last week of the month, he asked repeatedly that she leave him alone long enough to catch up on his grading. She smiled an odd, open-mouthed lascivious grin, a smile that seemed to demand sex more than indicate any happiness; however, she left his rooms. He gave up doing any real grading and rushed through the assignments, giving random scores until he caught up. None of it seemed to matter any more. Everything seemed to revolve around her and the incredible demands she made upon his body.

Feeling secure for a few hours, he drew a hot, hot bath. While he waited for the tub to fill, he looked at himself in the mirror, and was horrified at what he saw there. To call him vain was an understatement. Kessler had always thought himself quite handsome. Although in his early 50's, his hair was still dark and his face mostly unlined. His features were strong and regular and, although he tended a bit to the fleshy side, he always felt he was fit. What stared back at him was a face ravaged by excess. His eyes were horribly bloodshot, hardly any whites left. His skin hung loose on his cheeks, drawing the deep bags under his eyes even lower. His dark hair had large gray patches shining in stark contrast. His belly was gone, drawn down to almost no fat, his barrel chest standing forth larger than normal. He ran his hand over his jaw, wondering who this creature was.

With a moan, he lowered himself into the bath and lay still. The water was relaxing until the ripples ceased and the distortion of the water made his ruined body look more angular still. He rubbed at himself savagely, trying to wash away the sallow and loose skin.

The towel felt rough as he dried off. Pink shiny places appeared on his limbs from where skin sloughed off. This couldn't be happening. Not to him. Standing before his full-length mirror, the reflection of his entire body sent a shiver through him. Seen in pieces, it looked sad; seen in its full view, the damage was telling. He looked like a walking corpse.

His robe hung loosely around him when he walked into the living area, stepping around the debris on the floor. He had to scoop things off the chair to sit down, something that repelled him. As he sat there, limp in his exhaustion and fear, a sweet, spicy aroma filled his nostrils. "Go away," he croaked, not looking up. "I have things to do."

No response. The girl seldom talked, being far more interested in action. He looked up slowly, still mesmerized by her body. The long legs, the hips, narrow waist, round breasts, and her beautiful face. Taking his time, he took the sight in. When he got to her chin, something was different. It was pointy, not round. Her mouth was smaller now, set in a hard line. The nose was different and the eyes - gone were the amber-colored eyes, replaced by angry brown ones. The hair was dark and carefully styled, not loose and auburn. On the body of his young lover, his wife's angry face glared at him, the usually inviting arms folded tightly over the young girl's body.

Scared, he jumped up and began backing away as he tried to remember where he had left his wand. The woman followed, her steps pacing his. He tried to shut the bedroom door to keep her out, but she was there already - standing in front of the bed, a hand stiffly held out to him. He couldn't help himself; even as he tried to run from her, her need called him back.

* * *

* * *

Loup received the latest in the series of letters when she visited the village. Each day, she traveled there and every few trips would result in new instructions. The first bundle of Deutsche Marks had arrived, greeted with great joy. She compiled a shopping list of long-missed luxuries as well as a few practical items to celebrate the contract's completion. The only thing holding her back was that most things had to be purchased somewhere else. She made plans for a shopping trip over the summer holidays, assuming Gregorov could be pried out of the school.

Kessler's deterioration fascinated her. He never once asked for help from anyone. She had inquired, as discreetly as possible, of all the men. Several had already figured it out; she would have been surprised if they hadn't. She'd seen recognition light almost immediately in Lowenstein's eyes and shortly thereafter in Jones's. What Loup had summoned was rare enough, but a succubus was a creature of legends. It required regular control with spells, of which she was more than capable. The only thing she regretted was that the demon wasn't interested in talking about it. Loup was curious about several aspects, but the thing refused to divulge any of its secrets.

The latest touch had proven the most satisfying to both the demon and to herself. The photographs had arrived with the last letter and it had taken little to get the demon to alter its aspect to match. It was bored with holding one face for so long. The hardest part had been to get the thing to memorize its lines. While intelligent enough, it didn't care to be told what to do; only the addition of several additional spells had compelled it to learn them. Loup was almost certain that the promise that it would be released soon was the main impetus for it to make the effort at all.

* * *

* * *

Kessler shuddered every time he thought about sleep or anything that had to do with a bed. He moved in a fog these days, cringing away from anyone who came close to him. Warm window seats were his preferred places to nap as he tried to keep himself going. Gregorov would bring him food and make him eat, concern showing plainly as Kessler dwindled.

Only a shadow of the former bravado remained and Kessler drew upon it each night. He had grown to dread the lovely girl's touch, even more so with her new visage. It was one thing to roll upon the ground with a creature of heavenly form and face and quite another to have his wife's face snarl at him while he was compelled to couple with the girl's body. He had begun a routine wherein he tried to drink himself insensible before she arrived, but he had been drinking heavily for years and his tolerance was too high.

Tonight, he waited, two large glasses of whiskey already consumed, listening for any sounds, and sniffing periodically for the scent. She appeared before him, nude as usual, but this time it was different. This time there was more than one. As they stood before him, it was as if every woman he had ever slept with was there, all of them furious. Their faces shimmered, different memories overlaying each face as past lovers were shuffled over the massed bodies.

"Go away. Just leave. Why do you torment me so?" His once booming voice was now reduced to a croak.

In a chorus of voices, the multi-lover responded, "Do you know what day it is today, Siegfried?"

"No."

"It is your birthday, and we are your gift. The memory of all of us has been precious to you. It makes you proud of what you are, what you can do. Are you proud now? Do you like having what you always thought you desired?" The faces slowed down in their flickering changes, stopping for several seconds to show each woman or girl.

"No. Make this go away." He threw his glass at the forms and watched as it sailed through to smash on the wall behind them.

"We thought you wanted all of us. You had all of us. Are you not happy? Is this not paradise for you?"

"Paradise? This is hell."

"You have consigned many of us to a different hell, but it is hell all the same. When you feel the desire fill you again, think of us. Think of us on your birthday. It is our gift to you."

There seemed to be a crowd of women surrounding him, reaching for him, grabbing at tender flesh. It hurt on many levels, but it was the incredible sadness that settled over him that was the worst. The sadness and then suddenly the aloneness. All alone. On his birthday.

* * *