Before leaving the apartment, I took a moment to glance at myself in the mirror for a final check. I was dressed in a daringly short, light blue mini-skirt that showcased my long legs. I couldn't help but wonder if I appeared too thin or bony.

The black blouse I wore left my shoulders bare, its embroidered design revealing more of my skin on my arms and upper torso while providing modest coverage for my relatively small breasts. Completing the outfit was a pair of simple sandals with slightly higher heels. It was a new experimental ensemble I had put together, aiming for a sexy but not too over-the-top look.

The weather was still a bit chilly for such an outfit, but the temperature was rising, and I aimed to return home before evening.

In my left hand, I held a small handbag that contained my new mobile phone and my last ten-dollar banknote. It wasn't the ideal choice to complete my outfit, as the handbag seemed too high-class for the occasion, but I didn't have any better options.

The ten-dollar bill was my last reserve for special situations, as my cash reserves had run dry, and the bank had denied further withdrawals for the week. It had to be enough to get me through today and tomorrow. In the worst-case scenario, I would have to make do with whatever I had in the fridge until Monday.

As I was about to leave the house, I was surprised to find something waiting for me in the postbox downstairs: someone had returned my ID and placed it there.

I sighed; well, goodbye jacket and wallet, but at least my ID was back in my possession.

It seemed that the person who found them was kind enough to go through the trouble of returning it and even left it in my mailbox, taking my jacket and wallet as a finder's reward.

Robber!

I raised my fist in the air menacingly, but then I shrugged. Well, he was kind enough to return my ID; that was something.

There was also a postcard from a company called Gonzalles Guterres Cars, featuring a picture of a sexy girl riding a bike with her hair flowing in the wind. At first, I almost dismissed it as another advertising pamphlet, but then I noticed something remarkable—the girl on the postcard bore a striking resemblance to... me?!

Wow, was this a photoshopped picture of me?

As I flipped the postcard over, I discovered a handwritten message:

"Hi Dolores, Your bike was towed away for parking in a restricted zone." Me, parking illegally? But there were other bikes and cars there too, weren't there?

But the next line clarified things: "Torres Street is a no-parking zone during rush hours. I took care of retrieving your bike and paid the fine of $125, $25 for the parking violation, and $100 for the towing. You can pick it up at my shop.

Also, there's a concerning situation with Helen. Perhaps you could lend a hand?

Best regards, Gonzo."

No parking zone during rush hours? I snorted in annoyance: damn, who can follow up on all these regulation constraints? One hundred twenty-five fine was a hefty bill. Even if he did not ask for a refund, I intended to pay it, but that would be an impossible feat at the moment.

Best regards? That sounded a bit too formal. What's up with Gonzo? Or how should he have expressed it? Love? Yours?

Oh well, I always struggled to find the right tone with him, and he probably has the same problem with me.

Unfortunately, I don't have time to dwell now on his Helen-related troubles.

At least one mystery was solved: the bike mystery. Yes, I had indeed been riding a bike recently, so I hadn't imagined that part!

I let out a sigh. So now my picture was featured on Gonzo's advertising materials and correspondence, but hey, the picture didn't look bad, and I did borrow his bike.

Then it dawned on me that it was no photoshopped picture; that must be a picture of Cala with my features, which is why she looks so good! I was Cala before! I took the picture and looked at it again. It was me, and yet not entirely me. That confident smile on her face, those sparkling eyes, that posture with her shoulders held high, unlike my usual hunched stance. The grace with which she controlled the bike!

I tucked the note and ID into my purse with a sigh and walked away.

As I ventured out of the house, the melodious songs of birds filled the air, accompanied by the triumphant rays of sunshine that now illuminated the cloudless sky.

My steps exuded both nervousness and determination as if I were heading into an important exam. My destination lay in the West-End, an area known for its presence of prostitutes and motels that offered rooms by the hour. I deliberately chose a location far from home, not wanting to engage in any activities nearby.

Opting for convenience, I purchased a tram ticket for one fifty. Walking would have taken far too long.

As I drew nearer to my destination, my resolve began to waver, giving way to anxiety and uncertainty. I couldn't help but feel uneasy, even though I had worn this dress on several occasions before. Was it the proximity of the area that heightened my discomfort, or was it merely my imagination playing tricks on me?

Was it getting uncomfortably hot? Beads of sweat started to form on my temples, and I anxiously contemplated disembarking from the tram.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

It was at that moment that Hew's call came through on my phone.

He informed me that Matt was still in the operating room but might be released soon. He had managed to speak with a student who had been present in the operating room for several hours.

The atmosphere in the operating room remained uncertain; they were still giving him a fifty-fifty chance of survival, greatly dependent on Matt's post-operative response.

Hearing Hew's update bolstered my determination. Without his call, I might not have had the resolve to continue to my intended destination. Perhaps his intention was to persuade me to return to the hospital or simply provide me with an update on his friend's condition.

Upon reaching the West-End station, I clumsily made my way down the street until I stumbled upon an open terrace of a bar.

A waiter approached, and I placed an order for a coffee.

"Early start, huh?" he remarked as he brought me the coffee, attempting to strike up a friendly conversation.

His words threw me off balance, even though he meant no harm. I was taken aback, almost giving him an instinctive succubus glance out of shock before stupidly nodding, inadvertently confirming his suspicion.

Damn, was it so obvious?

As I sipped on my coffee, my stomach growled, reminding me that I'd skipped breakfast. However, I resisted the urge to order something to eat and focused on the task at hand.

Earlier, Cala and I had discussed the succubus glance, and I had attempted to practice controlling it. In theory, it was a simple concept: a glance infused with intent and magic. Simple, eh?

I had practiced in front of a mirror, trying to understand its intricacies. It seemed to come naturally to me, but at the same time, forcing it to happen proved challenging, particularly when it came to infusing it with magic. It was like trying to control the rhythm of my own heartbeat - automatic yet elusive.

Instead of striving for control, I decided to let the glance flow naturally. I focused on pouring intent into it and maintained a smile, contemplating the upcoming encounter. The rest would come instinctively.

Determined to ignore the persistent waiter, who was asking if I needed anything else, I shook my head and concentrated on my coffee.

This cup was a significant investment, costing me another dollar representing now more than ten percent of my limited funds.

As I enjoyed the comforting warmth of the beverage, I was taken by surprise when a young man approached me.

"Hello," he greeted me with a smile, gesturing towards my table. "May I take the ashtray if you don't smoke?"

Inadvertently, I responded with a burst of succubus glances as I blinked at him, taken aback by his directness.

He audibly gasped at the unexpected reaction.

Five minutes later, we found ourselves alone in a room, and he was contributing to Matt's healing and providing financial support for my studies.

He asked how much he should contribute, and I shrugged, replying, "Whatever you want."

Perhaps next time, I would have to protect them from their own generosity, as he left the two one hundred notes from his wallet on the table in the room.

I was taken aback to realize that I didn't feel any repulsion and that everything seemed acceptable to me. Well, to tell the truth, the young man was someone of twenty-something, had a better-than-average look, and was probably not even seeking an adventure, given the early hour. Basically, a person I would not have been averse to dating, but still... I reminded myself that I was doing it for Matt, viewing it as a sacrifice to help him.

OK, another couple of sacrifices, and I am done! - I told myself.

Soon, I found myself back on the terrace, indulging in ice cream and sipping on an orange juice, having paid for the room and reserved it for a couple more hours while a maid was already being dispatched to clean and freshen it. Ten minutes later, I was again inside the room with a new 'guest,' and as I excused myself to use the restroom, I couldn't help but notice that I was starting to enjoy the situation. Strangely, my hunger had dissipated, and I felt revitalized.

As I looked at my happily smiling face in the mirror, it suddenly dawned on me that this was no sacrifice at all. It was simply a manifestation of my succubus nature, if such a thing existed, feeding on others and deriving pleasure from it.

A chilling shudder passed through my spine.

Was this what I am? Was this what I wanted to become?

A resounding NO was the answer. No fucking way!

But what happens to Matt if I do not help him? Was this really a struggle to help Matt, or was I using Matt's situation as an excuse to indulge in my succubus nature? Was there truly no other way to help him without resorting to such methods?

But then, a realization struck me like a lightning bolt. Helen! I had completely forgotten about her and the ring I had given her. The name that kept popping into my mind since I read that note in the morning.

Oh, fuck! Why did I not think about it before?

Did Helen actually use it? Was the ring depleted?

I highly doubted it. She was aware of the limited charges within it, so I couldn't fathom her wasting them so quickly.

Should I take the risk? What if I arrive too late only to find an empty ring?

The opposite was also true; if I lingered here for another five hours to collect my tribute, I might miss my chance of saving him.

But if I act swiftly, I could already be at the hospital with the ring in my hand!

I took a deep breath, content with my decision.

Should I not gather this unfortunate soul's essence while he's still in the room?

No.

But how could I make my escape? I raised my eyes and saw the small square window of the restroom.

Pfuh! How was it? If my head passes through, I should be able to squeeze myself through?

Was this verdict valid only for cats or also for humans?

Taking a deep breath, I decided to give it a try.

With some effort, I managed to squeeze myself through it and ended up tumbling headfirst into some bushes on the other side, clutching my shoes and handbag tightly in my hands. Fortunately, the room had been located on the ground floor.

With a few scratches as a price, I broke free and sprinted as fast as my legs could carry me towards the tram station.