—Fetter—

Daria took me to the public library where she checked out material on child-care, parenting and household management. I already know how to read the text because of the local minds I have touched. It would be much easier to locate these authors, touch their minds and absorb all of their expertise in a moment. But then I would have to leave Daria’s side.

Daria’s company is becoming addictive to me. I think this is is thanks to my mother. Maybe I have inherited some aspects of her succubus nature. Succubi and incubi feel drawn to humans, find them attractive in a way that other demons do not.

Daria is attractive to me. Her curls pulled into a knot on top of her head, her dark brown eyes, the way she licks her lips, then bites the tip of her tongue when she is trying to remember something. She also smells good. This is new to me, this impulse to stand close to her, talk with her, do things for her. I have never felt such with any being before.

It is a pointless feeling. If I were an incubus I could seduce her to consume her soul. But I do not gain sustenance that way. And she does not have her soul anymore anyway. So what is the point of this feeling? This erotic pull—?

“—and when we get home I’ll go over the house rules and—” She jerks to a stop as we near the self-checkout counter of the library. “Where are you going to sleep Fetter? Do you need a room or—?”

“I do not sleep.”

“Okay.” She appears nonplussed as we continue walking. “But what about your stuff? Like clothes and other personal things?”

“I do not possess any stuff.”

She turns to me again, pointedly looking at my clothing.

“These clothes are part of my form. I have incorporated them into my being in the same manner I did this form,” I explain.

“Ah, okay. Well if you are going to be with us for a while, you’re going to have stuff at some point. Mementos, hobbies, books, devices—”

“It is not an issue,” I assure her.

“Hmmm.”

She seems bothered by the idea that I do not require my own space in her home.

The building Daria lives in was once a large home. It has been divided into three dwellings and Daria’s family lives in the bottom section. As we return, a lone man is is coming down the side stairs.

“Hello Daria!”

“Hi Chris.”

He stands looking at us, obviously waiting for Daria to introduce me. I am grateful that I was able to discorporate the horns.

Daria does not introduce us. I remain quiet and wait. He is slim, with sparse brown hair and dull blue eyes.

When she starts to turn and open the door, Chris says, “So, uh, I’m going to that fellowship thing at church. You’re welcome anytime—”

“Thanks, but I have a guest—”

“All are welcome,” Chris counters.

“No thank you,” I say.

Briefly touching his mind,I find a miasma of lust, perversion and obsession. Not at all what I would expect from the thoughts of one focused on pious worship.

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Stepping closer to Daria, I place a reassuring hand on her back.

“Thanks though, Chris. Have fun,” she says, dismissing him.

When we are securely inside the apartment I tell her, “I do not like him. He is—not right.”

“Yeah—too bad he’s the landlord.”

We set the books down and she starts explaining, “The kids are dropped off at 4:15 or there-bouts. They have a snack, and do homework. Dinner is at six, so its a good idea to start prepping it at 5:20. They shower and brush their teeth at 8:30, in bed by nine.”

I follow her around the dwelling and she shows me where all of the cleaning supplies are, tutors me on how to wash, dry, fold and put away laundry, then we are in the kitchen.

“On Sundays, I meal plan and prep a few crock pot dinners, but tonight we’re making Chili and corn bread. So I preheat the oven, put an oiled cast iron skillet in there—” As she explains how to prepare chili and corn bread, she does it herself. This is confusing to me because this is my work to do and I already know how to do it from having touched her mind when I first arrived. I remain attentive.”—I like to pre-measure all of the seasonings and just dump them in together. So when the onions are brown and soft like this, add the garlic and when that’s fragrant—” This goes on for a long time.

As she’s covering the chili, the children arrive home.

“Mom! Mom! Jessie got in trouble on the bus! She punched Silas in the nose! Now she’s going to have detention and—”

“You snitch!” the other child yells.

“I—”

Daria holds up a hand, silencing the children then asks, “Jessie, you punched someone?”

She nods.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because he called Jamie a slur! Two slurs! The F word and the R word!”

Daria tilts her head then asks, “And why didn’t you tell the bus driver, or wait and tell another adult about this?”

“Because I’m not a snitch!” The child juts her chin out and glares at the other kid.

“I’m not a snitch either!”

“You just snitched on me to mom.”

“I just told her what happened.”

“That is snitching.”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

Daria interjects, “It’s not snitching because you’re not in trouble with me.”

Both of the kids just look at her.

“Its okay that you defended Jamie. You broke the rules on the bus, so you get detention and that’s that. You’re in trouble with them not me,” she explains.

Both kids look stunned for second, but put their bags on the dining table and retrieved their schoolwork. They both work diligently as Daria shreds cheese, chops parsley, removes the cornbread from the oven and brushes butter over it.

Discorporate, I remain unseen by the two children. Daria is planning to introduce me to them tomorrow.

I wonder if I can eat this food? I have never eaten before. If I was to consume chili and then discorporate, would the chili just fall to the floor? This body does not have a digestive tract, but maybe I could make one and just stay in that state until digestion concludes? On second thought, I don’t actually want to experience the conclusion.