LJ Idol, Season 10 Second Chance, Week 1: Not Throwing Away My Shot
It was when they approached the front of the line that Noah spoke: “It just occurred to me that we can't get into this place. We're freshmen and the bar has a very strict carding policy.”
Rafaela chuckled. “It's just now occurring to you?”
“It occurred to me a couple of times, but I kept it to myself. I figured you had it under control.”
“You figured right,” she told him. “Give me your driver's license.”
He did. She said, “Ver o que eu escolhi para ser visualizado,” kissed it, and handed it back. “Take a look.”
“It looks the same.”
“Look closer.”
He squinted at it, and a grin spread across his face. “Hey, I'm twenty-two!”
“Try not to act so surprised about it when you get to the bouncer,” she recommended.
“How long have you been able to do this?” he asked.
She tucked an out-of-control black-and-silver lock behind her ear. “Since about an hour ago.”
“This is the test run?” he clarified.
Rafaela nodded.
“Should I be nervous?”
She shrugged.
“ID please,” the bouncer demanded. She examined the licenses, and she reexamined them, paying extra attention to Noah. She handed them back.
Rafaela and Noah froze in disbelief.
“Can I help you with something?” the bouncer asked.
Rafaela pushed Noah inside. “Nope!” she replied.
Noah waited until he was out of sight of the bouncer until he pumped his fist. “I'm gonna get so fucking hammered!”
“We're here on business,” Rafaela reminded him.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He headed straight for the bar.
“Godsdammit,” she muttered and followed.
He drummed the bar with his palms. “Bartender, get me a Four Horseman.”
“Your funeral,” the bartender replied and poured in a half shot of Jack Daniels, a half shot of Jim Beam, a half shot of Johnny Walker, and a half shot of Jose Cuervo into a glass.
Noah paid and picked it up, but before he could pour it down his throat, Rafaela snatched the glass from his hand. She was just a little taller than he was, so when she held the glass over her head, he couldn't quite reach. “Please!” he begged. When you told me I was coming to a bar tonight, this is all I could think about.
She sighed. “Drunk Noah is useless to me.”
“Come on!” he whined, “what do you need me for anyway? You're the magician. I just know a couple of tricks you taught me.”
“You're my support, Noah,” she said. “I shouldn't have to tell you how valuable that is.” She handed him the glass. “Don't get trashed.”
He took the shot and shuddered under its power. “All right, what's our mission?”
Rafaela dug an old-timey brass compass out of the pocket of her cargo pants and clicked it open. In the center rested a rolled-up scrap of paper, and it was aimed at a booth in the corner. She pointed toward it and headed in that direction.
Noah strutted along behind her. “Can we get trashed after the mission?”
“Sure.”
At the booth sat a gangly older student Rafaela had a class with last semester, and wrapped around him was a petite brunette who looked up at their arrival with a mild panic that she quickly disguised.
“We're here to talk to her,” Rafaela said, “whatever her name is.”
“It's Barbara,” the student told her.
Rafaela's eyes never left the brunette. “Trust me, it's not Barbara. Probably.”
The woman who wasn't necessarily Barbara disengaged herself from her companion. “Okay, then talk.”
“Without an audience.” Rafaela nodded to Noah, who stood threateningly over the student.
“What's going on here?” he demanded.
Noah pulled him from his seat. “Come on, man, I'll buy you a drink.”
The man protested with more bravery than his body language communicated. “I don't think so!”
“Listen,” Noah growled, “you can either get a free drink, or you can get thrown out of the bar for fighting with me.”
The woman who wasn't Barbara waved him away. “Let me sort this out and we can go back to where we were.”
Noah dragged the very confused young man away.
The woman turned to Rafaela. “Can you tell me what this is about? That's my date your boyfriend just ran off with.”
“He's not my boyfriend,” Rafaela told her.
“Tell him that,” she purred.
Rafaela cleared her throat. “You're a succubus I accidentally let loose from hell.”
“That's preposterous!” she laughed. Her expression then sank into seriousness, and she added, “There's no point in lying about this, is there?”
Rafaela shook her head.
“Good to see you again, Rafaela,” the succubus said. She pointed at herself. “Trixie.”
“Trixie?”
Trixie nodded. “Want to relive that hour you and I spent in your van?”
“No.” Rafaela blushed.
“Shame.” She took a sip of the drink in front of her and gestured to the other side of the table. “Please take a seat. Tell me what brings you to me today.”
Rafaela sat down. “The only reason Noah and I allowed you to stay here was because you promised not to kill anybody.”
“And I haven't.”
“Really?” Rafaela asked. “Because there are two dead college students whose bodies were drained of all chi. That sounds like a succubus to me.”
“It does sound like a succubus,” Trixie agreed. “but only if we visit the same person many times. I've been stopping at one visit, which is a bummer because I'm starting to run out of fresh food.”
“If not you, then who?”
“I'm not the only one of us, you know,” Trixie reminded her. “You want one of the others.”
“So, um,” mumbled Rafaela, “could you help me figure out how to find this one?”
Trixie laughed. “This is what I have to say to that.” She threw her drink in Rafaela's face and declared, “Pintar
Rafaela wiped the liquid from her face, and she was sitting in a moderately full bus puttering along some urban avenue. She looked around and saw a number of expressionless faces of commuters, along with a couple enthusiastically fucking in the back. A hand clamped on her shoulder, and she jumped.
“Relax, Rafaela,” said the middle-aged woman who belonged to the hand.
“Trixie?”
She nodded.
“Where am I?” Rafaela asked.
“Isn't it obvious?”
Rafaela burst out in a wide grin. “I'm in somebody's dream? I didn't know you could do that!” The grin faded. “Now what do I do?”
Trixie pointed to the couple, who were no longer fucking, but rather staring at them.
“What's going on?” asked the male sexual partner.
The female sexual partner ran a finger down his ear and his chin. “Honey, this doesn't concern you.”
“Yeah, it does,” he insisted.
For just a split second she flashed the true face of a succubus, and it was enough to make him scream, which, in turn, caused him to vanish.
“I hope it was worth it, Trixie,” the succubus said. “I haven't finished feeding yet.”
Trixie replied, “The point wasn't to starve you, Rhonda. We came here to talk.”
“Since when do succubi talk?” Rhonda asked while dressing in business casual. “We're solitary creatures.”
“It was actually me who wanted to talk,” interjected Rafaela.
“And who the fuck is this?” Rhonda demanded of Trixie.
“Look,” Rafaela told her, “you're killing some of these guys.”
Rhonda rolled her eyes. “So?”
“You need to quit it!” Rafaela pleaded.
Rhonda folded her arms. “And what if I don't want to?”
“Then I'm going to stop you,” Rafaela declared.
Rhonda laughed. “And how are you going to do that?”
“Ilektrikó révma, chorós epáno sto dérma tis? Kánte ton eaftó sas dei,” Rafaela replied.
Rhonda's hair stood on end for a moment before sparks leapt from finger to finger. “What the fuck?” she cried out before shoving her way to the front of the bus and out the exit.
Rafaela didn't even think about what she was doing when she charged after her. Outside of the bus was a long dark hallway, which Rhonda exited from a door on the right. Rafaela followed her into a crowded junior-high classroom, which, when exited, became the facade of a medieval castle. She chased Rhonda across the drawbridge, which led to the aisle of a small, intimate chapel. She almost caught up to her at the altar, but Rhonda slipped out of a door in the back and locked it behind her.
Rafaela pounded on it in frustration.
Appearing at her side as if she'd always been there, Trixie told her, “It's okay. We'll figure something out.”
“No,” Rafaela growled, “I'm not missing my chance to do this.” She kissed her pinkie, pressed it to the keyhole, and whispered, “Fechadura, falha em seu dever; Permita-me a passagem.” The door clicked open, revealing a long beach. She ran as fast as she could after the figure receding into the distance \, but Rafaela wasn't in the best of shape, so she soon had to stop and catch her breath. “Godsdammit!” she coughed.
Trixie quickly caught up with her. “Here,” she said, “let me help.” She threw Rafaela over her shoulder like a burlap sack of flour before leaping into the air. They landed in front of Rhonda, who tried to change directions but was stopped by Trixie's fist lashing out and wrapping around her arm.
Meanwhile, Rafaela slid off her back and wobbled on her feet for a moment, announcing, “Holy shit that was amazing! I know this is a dream and isn't real, but it totally felt real.”
“Focus,” Trixie told her.
“Right,” she admitted.
“What are you going to do to me?” Rhonda demanded to know.
“Well,” Rafaela replied, “I can't kill you, and I can't make it so you can't have sex, because that would be killing you. So I'm going to try this.” She dabbed a bit of oil out of a small vial onto her middle finger and used the oil to trace a shape on Rhonda's forehead. “Iterum convertentes revelata veritas. Ut vere videre et revertere. There: when you feed off of a human, the second time he sees you he'll see your true form.”
Rhonda yanked herself free of Trixie's grip. “Bitch.” She turned to Trixie. “Why are you helping this mortal over your own sister?”
Trixie smirked. “She's generous in bed. Clumsy, but generous.” She put her arm around Rafaela. “Want to relive that hour we spent together?”
Rafaela blushed and bit her lip. “Aren't we still asleep in the bar?”
“We'll just wake up and go someplace private.”
“I'm still not into girls,” Rafaela insisted.
“I won't tell a soul.”