The top deck was quiet. Just the low hum of the enchantments keeping them aloft, the occasional creak of the ship adjusting to wind currents, and Murdoch's steady breathing as he worked the controls.

  Goldie sat in the copilot's chair, her hands folded in her p, watching him. The cockpit looked the same as it had during her handful of lessons—carpeted floors in deep navy, the panels all polished to a mirror shine, levers and buttons arranged in elegant simplicity. Luxury meeting function. Her father had spared no expense when he'd given her the ship for her birthday.

  She'd flown it maybe five times. The pilot her father had hired had been patient enough, walking her through the basics, but she'd never really gotten the hang of it. There were always other things to do, other pces to be. The ship had mostly sat in the hangar, beautiful and expensive and *hers*, waiting for whenever she felt like using it.

  Murdoch's hands moved over the controls with easy confidence, adjusting their heading with a slight pull on one lever, checking their altitude on a glowing readout. He'd settled into the pilot's chair like he belonged there, his posture rexed but attentive. The kind of comfort that only came from years of experience.

  Nothing like her own clumsy attempts.

  "For a little pleasure craft," he said, his eyes still on the horizon through the wraparound windows, "this thing moves quite well." He pulled back slightly on the altitude lever, and Goldie felt the ship respond immediately, climbing smooth and steady. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I swear it even flies better than the battle fortresses and fighter craft I used to fly in the war."

  Goldie blinked. "Really?"

  "Yeah." He tapped one of the panels, and a series of readings flickered across the dispy. "See this? Your stabilization enchantments are top-tier. Military grade, maybe better. And these—" he gestured to a row of smaller controls, "—navigation, altitude response, speed regution—it's all more than what we need for our little project." He gnced at her, that smile widening. "This thing even has antigravity cells. If I gotta make any interesting maneuvers, we don't got to worry about being strapped down." He shook his head, looking almost impressed. "But I swear, if you put some weapons on this thing, it could hold its own for sky superiority."

  She didn't really understand what he meant by that. Sky superiority. Battle fortresses. Antigravity cells. The pilot who'd taught her had mentioned some of these things, but she'd never paid much attention to the technical details. It was just... her ship. Beautiful and expensive and hers.

  She looked down at her hands.

  Murdoch made another adjustment, and the ship banked gently to the left. Through the windows, she could see the ndscape rolling by below—dark forests, the occasional glimmer of a river catching moonlight.

  "How long have you known Little John?" The question came out before she could stop it.

  Murdoch's smile shifted into something knowing. He didn't look at her, just kept his eyes on the sky ahead, but she could see the amusement in his expression.

  "You've got a thing for him, don't you?"

  Heat flooded Goldie's face. She tried to look away, fixing her gaze on the control panel, the buttons, anywhere but Murdoch's face.

  "I've seen that look in many women's eyes," Murdoch continued, his tone conversational, almost kind. He adjusted their speed with a smooth push of a lever. "I'm just going to say this—Little John is Little John. If you have his attention, you have it. If you don't, you don't."

  The words hit harder than they should have. Goldie's throat tightened.

  Murdoch finally gnced at her, and his expression had softened slightly. "But you're a pretty young dy." He turned back to the controls. "Good luck."

  The silence that followed felt heavy. Goldie sat there, her hands still folded in her p, watching Murdoch fly her ship.

  ---

  The sanctuary looked normal enough as they pushed through the heavy wooden doors - pews, altar, candles flickering in their sconces. Hansel's wounds throbbed, the cut on his cheek still bleeding sluggishly.

  Then they took another step forward.

  The space *shifted*. The stone walls rippled like water, transforming into rich burgundy wallpaper. The pews dissolved. Plush carpet materialized beneath their feet, deep red and impossibly soft. The altar became an enormous four-poster bed draped in silk sheets.

  And on that bed, reclining against a mountain of pillows, was Elena.

  Naked.

  Hansel froze.

  She'd changed. Curved horns spiraled up from her dark hair, gleaming like polished obsidian. Bat wings stretched out behind her, the membrane catching the candlelight with an iridescent sheen. Her body was... well, objectively perfect. The kind of curves that would make straight men stumble over their own feet.

  *Too bad I'm not one of them,* Hansel thought.

  She smiled at them - not the modest, demure smile he'd seen her wear every Sunday for years. This was nguid, knowing, full of promise. Her dark hair spilled across the pillows like ink, and her eyes practically glowed with hunger and confidence.

  "Hello, boys," she purred, stretching like a cat, her wings flexing. "I've been waiting for you."

  Hansel's mind reeled. *Sister Elena?* The woman who organized the charity drives? Who always wore her hair in that tight bun and kept her eyes downcast during services?

  "Elena?" he managed. "What—"

  "Shh." She slid off the bed with inhuman grace, her wings folding against her back. She moved to a small table near the wall where a basin of water sat - the holy water font that should've been near the entrance. She dipped a soft white towel into it, wringing it out.

  "No need to be afraid. You both look so tired. So hurt." Her gaze lingered on the cut along his cheek as she approached. "Let me help you."

  Before Hansel could protest, she pressed the damp towel to his wound.

  The effect was instant. The pain vanished - not gradually, but in a heartbeat. The torn flesh knitted itself together, the burning ache dissolving into nothing. He reached up reflexively, touching his cheek. Smooth. Healed.

  *Holy water. Magical holy water. Of course the church's holy water would be different now.*

  "Better?" Elena whispered, standing close. Too close.

  The scent of her hit him like a wave - vanil and roses, sweet and intoxicating. It rolled off her skin in clouds, filling his nose, his lungs. He could feel the succubus magic in it, the pull designed to drag men into her orbit like gravity.

  Her pupils dited as she looked at him, her breathing deepening. Her skin flushed, a delicate pink spreading across her chest and neck. She bit her lower lip, her free hand coming up to rest on his shoulder.

  She was turning herself on.

  The realization clicked into pce. She was a succubus - her powers fed on lust, desire. And right now, imagining what she wanted to do with him, with *both* of them, she was getting exactly what she craved. He could see it in the way her wings quivered, in the hitch of her breath, in how her fingers trembled slightly against his skin.

  "You're so handsome," she breathed, her face inches from his. Her eyes darted to Steve, then back. "Both of you. I've always thought so. Always watched you from across the chapel and wondered..."

  "Wondered what?" Hansel asked, stepping closer, pying along. He could see Steve shifting position behind Elena, moving carefully.

  "What it would be like," Elena whispered, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. Her scarlet and ebony wings spread slightly, as if she couldn't contain her excitement. "To be wanted by men like you. Strong. Devoted. Good."

  Her voice dropped lower, husky. "To have you both in my bed. To feel your hands on me, your mouths..." She shuddered, her arousal pin on her face. "I've dreamed about it. Touching you. Tasting you. Making you forget everything but *me*."

  There was something almost desperate beneath the seduction. Like this power had given her something she'd craved for years - not just the ability to be desired, but to act on her own desires without shame.

  "Sister Elena," Hansel said gently, pulling her into an embrace. "You've always been good. You didn't need this."

  She melted against him, sighing, her bare skin warm against his shirt. "You don't understand. I've always been invisible. Pin. Forgettable. But now—" Her hips pressed against his, seeking friction. "Now I can have whatever I want. *Whoever* I want."

  Steve moved.

  Hansel felt rather than saw his partner grab something from the bed - a silk sash - and in one smooth motion, loop it around Elena's wrists. Hansel held her steady as Steve secured the knot, pulling her arms behind her back.

  "What—" Elena jerked backward, confusion flooding her face. Her wings fred in arm. "No, wait, I had you—I felt the magic working—"

  Steve stepped around to push the woman onto the bed and began to tie her ankles. "Sorry, Elena."

  She stared at them both, eyes darting between their faces, her seductive demeanor crumbling. The flush on her skin remained, her arousal still evident even as fear crept into her expression. "But you... I saw how you looked at me. You wanted—"

  "Good job, babe," Steve said quietly.

  Then he leaned in and kissed Hansel.

  It wasn't showy. Just a quick, familiar press of lips - the kind of kiss new lovers did.

  Hansel heard Elena's sharp intake of breath.

  When they pulled apart, she was staring at them with wide eyes, her mouth open in a small "oh" of understanding.

  "You're..." She looked between them, then down at herself - naked, bound, her shoulders drooping, her seduction utterly wasted. "Oh. *Oh.*"

  The room flickered. For just a moment, Hansel caught a glimpse of the grid pattern.

  "I'm sorry," Elena whispered. She wasn't looking at them anymore. Her wings wrapped around herself like a shield. "I didn't... I just wanted..."

  "We know," Hansel said. And he meant it.

  But they couldn't stay. Couldn't help her, not now. Not when Aldric was deeper in the church doing goddess-knew-what.

  Steve was already moving toward the far door, the one that led deeper into the sanctuary. Hansel followed.

  Behind them, Elena sat on the edge of the bed, bound and silent, her wings folded tight against her back, watching them go with eyes that held embarrassment and something like longing.

  They were back in a stone corridor, the sounds of chanting echoing from somewhere below.