Night of the Empusa

Night of the Empusa

It seemed like Nikopolus had everything. Well, almost everything. He had an olive grove, he was a citizen of Athens, and he won glory at the Olympic games. The only thing he lacked was a wife.

He was wandering the marketplace when he saw her. Her wavy black hair cascaded down her ivory shoulders. She peered at him over her shoulder with one eye, and his heart began thudding in his chest. She looked like the perfect embodiment of the Golden Mean to him.

Even the Homeric assertions that Helen was the most beautiful maiden in the world rang hollow in his ears. She looked like an Olympian goddess, or statue come to life.

She was very demure about turning away almost as soon as his eyes met hers, but he’d felt the spark between them when they had. She was interested, and he knew he had to have her.

The question became, how would he find out who she was? That was the overwhelming imperative. He had no idea how he would go about it, but he was sure love would find a way around every obstacle.

He began that evening. He had invited his friends for a party. It was a traditional affair, where men would gather together, to share a jug of wine, under the pretense of discussing philosophy.

Of course, as the grape worked its magic, philosophy was forgotten. They would laugh, and discuss silly things. It was an opportunity to relax from the constant intellectual rigors, and lay aside the mask of seriousness.

It was also an opportunity to go fishing for information. Of course, it had to be done with some care. Proper protocol had to be observed.

He waited with mounting impatience for the moment to come. Theocritos, who worked as a paidegagos, insisted on carrying out a war of words with Alexandros.

Theocritos was a Cynic, and he was determined to prove the other man’s championship of Atomism was just a dilettantish fling. He was probably right. The other man was notorious for his espousal of whatever the philosophical flavor of the week happened to be.

However, Theocritos was trying to bully the other man into admitting his proclivity, but he refused to do so. The others were starting to get restless.

It was Demosthenes who ended up saving the evening. “Oh spare us, Theocritos. I think you are trying to cover for your friend Nikopolous.”

His eyes wagged up and down in a suggestive gesture. “Are you hiding a beautiful young boy from us?”

There were a few muffled chuckles, and a couple gasps. They were not yet drunk enough to miss the venomous sting behind the jibe.

He was old enough and wealthy enough that he should be taking a wife. It was reaching a point where he would start causing a public scandal if he continued his bachelor lifestyle.

Of course, he didn’t flinch. He took a sip of his wine, and riposted, “If it were little boys I was after, I would steal one of yours.”

The others erupted with laughter. Demosthenes arched his eyebrows, a half-smile on his face as he took a sip of wine. A couple of the guys needled him to fire back, but he refused, without giving a reason. Only Theocritos lay on his mat, scowling at the rest of them.

Nikopolous stood up, and cleared his throat. “Actually, I have seen the woman I wish to marry in the marketplace.”

Instant pandemonium. The other guys crowded around him, wanting to know more. Theocritos stayed aloof, but it was clear he was paying attention.

When Nikopolous began to describe her, he gasped, his eyes going wide. “Beware of her! She is a bad one! A real bad one! She’s an empusa! Not even Hades will have anything to do with her!”

There was an embarrassed silence. Then Alexandros let out a scornful laugh. “Ah, you have not mixed enough water with your wine!”

That provoked a ripple of laughter. Theocritos went bright red, but chose to hold his tongue, glowering at his rival.

That was enough to ruin the evening. They became self-conscious, and began discussing banalities. At last, they became uncomfortable, and began to leave, one by one. They were apologetic, but there was a faint whiff of bitterness at Theocritos.

He stuck around after the others had left, and lectured him about the woman he wanted as his bride. Nikopolous listened in sullen silence, seething at the other man’s effrontery.

It was clear that he knew of her, and bore her a grudge. Of course, he clung to the fiction that she was an empusa, a female vampire. At last, he left, and Nikopolous was left on his own, with vague regrets he had even brought the subject up.

He started spending all the free time he could get in the marketplace, hoping to see his beloved again. He was unable to do so, but visions of her tormented his sleeping hours.

He prayed and made sacrifices to Athena for some relief from his fever dream. However, the goddess of the bright eyes seemed deaf to his entreaties. His prayers and sacrifices to Aphrodite for the consummation of his love met with a similar fate.

A couple of days after the first abortive party, a second was held. They did not go through the pretense of discussing deep issues, and Theocritos was conspicuous in his absence.

The group had turned against him. Even Nikopolous made a point of acting like he did not recognize the other man when he saw him in the marketplace.

They started the evening by consoling him for not having seen the woman again, and pooling their information, to see if the could unravel the mystery.

There was an undercurrent of malice to the meeting, and instead of becoming jolly and silly as they began to get into their cups, they became bitter and angry.

They cursed Theocritos, calling oaths down upon his head, and trading malicious stories about him. Little ended up getting accomplished, and they ended up splitting up, muttering to themselves.

It did have the effect on Nikopolous of poisoning the well of goodwill for the other man. as the days crept by with him wandering the marketplace without seeing her, he began to wonder if the other man was keeping her away by his presence.

The idea began taking on a fetishistic life of its own within his mind. He started going out of his way to avoid the other man.

Theocritos sensed that his friend was slipping out of his orbit, and was falling under the spell of that dark-eyed demon. He had to do something, but what? He had no answers for that.

Maybe one of the oracles could answer the question for him, but he was fearful of straying too far away, lest that she-wolf sink her fangs deeper into his friend while he was gone.

After a couple of days of arguing with himself, he decided he would have to confront his friend, and see if he could tear the veil from the other man’s eyes. Filled with that new resolve, Theocritos began to stalk his friend.

He knew he would have to remain hidden until he made his final approach. If Nikopolous saw him before he was close enough, the other man was likely to disappear on him.

He filtered through the crowd, acting like he was just another man wandering around. When he was within grabbing distance, he threw his arms around Nikopolous, and embraced him. “Greetings, my friend! It has been a long time since I have seen you!”

The other man had a wide deer-in-the-headlights look. He had won tactical surprise, but he would have to tread with care. If he pressed too hard too soon, the other man would bolt. “So, what has caused this long absence?”

Nikopolous was beginning to recover his scattered wits. His eyebrows drew together in a shrewd look. “You should know very well why. You are the author of it.”

Time to switch subjects. He needed to get the other man talking, but wished to avoid the land mines of the present topic. “So, what have you been doing recently?”

“I have been looking in the marketplace for my beloved, but I have not seen her.” His brows knit. “Not since you have made such a fuss over her.”

Uh-oh, this was even worse than he had feared. Immediate action was called for. “If you have not seen her recently, it may be a sign from the gods.”

He put an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “Come now! I have a couple denarii. We can go have Theytis the Egyptian read the auguries for…”

He trailed off when he realized the other man wasn’t paying him the slightest bit of attention. To his horror, he could see the woman moving through the crowd.

She seemed to have an aura around her that the other people noticed. It was a subtle thing, but she didn’t seem to be fighting the crowds like everybody else.

The others stayed close enough to provide the illusion of normalcy, but there was an invisible cone of fear around her. Nobody wanted to get too close to her, allowing her to glide through the crowd with effortless grace.

By Zeus’s beard, she was a lynx of Hecate! As if she were reading his thoughts, her head snapped toward them. Her dark eyes touched on Nikopolous, and her expression grew impish and teasing.

She pulled the corner of her veil, to hide the lower half of her face, and motioned him to follow her. He didn’t need a graven invitation. He was off like a shot, elbowing his way through the crowd, cursing them for being in his way.

Theocritos didn’t make a motion to stop him, and doubted he would have been unable to anyway. He felt as though a trident of ice had been plunged through his colon, and pinned him to the spot.

He had seen how those dark eyes had focused on him for a moment, marking him. She was aware he knew her terrible secret, and he would have to be on his guard against her avenging fury.

He was now locked in a battle with one of Hecate’s imps, and the price of failure would not only be his friend’s life, but his as well. Either he would expose her for what she was, or he and his friend would die.

The fight would have to come later, though. It was clear she had won this round.

Meanwhile, Nikopolous had managed to get near her, and decided to make his approach. “Greetings! I am Nikopolous.”

She giggled, and offered a hand, turning her face away. He took it in both of his. “I have not seen you in the marketplace recently. Are you a native of Athens?”

She shook her head. “No, I am Diademia of Anatolia. My mother died in childbirth, and my father was a sailor. He was killed by pirates in the Euxine Sea.”

She wiped a tear from her eye. “I am staying with Andora the matron. I am in search of a main to marry me, and take care of me.”

He brightened up. “Then your search is over!”

He boasted of his Olympic wreaths, and his olive garden. She listened as he talked, regarding him with her bewitching dark eyes.

At last, she said, “I am impressed. If you can prove yourself worthy, you shall have me in marriage.” Then, with an enigmatic smile, she disappeared into the crowd.

Nikopolous now had a name, and a place to go, so he began to devote himself to the pursuit of his beloved. Theocritos was also busy, seeking to learn more about the dreaded empusa.

He knew they were vampires that took on female form, but getting information beyond that was difficult. While there were many stories about the gods, there was little said about Hel, and her acolytes.

What was truly maddening about the process was a sense of the sands slipping through the hourglass. If he was unable to find the answers he needed, both of them would be needing the coin for the ferryman Charon.

He managed to find a few flakes of information here, a nugget there, but he was unable to find a rich vein of it that would give him the answers he was after.

He also worked at sounding the alarm. If he was unable to stop her himself, maybe one of their mutual friends could stop the madness.

Talking to Nikopolous would be a futile waste of time. He was under that harpy’s spell. Maybe the truth from another friend that he didn’t believe to have a grudge against her might shock him back to his senses.

The problem he discovered was Alexandros had taken the opportunity to poison the well against him. Theocritos was stunned when he learned that. What had caused the other man to become such a viper?

Alexandros had always been a child of a wealthy aristocrat. He used his time to study the philosophical flavor of the week, but never in a serious, systematic way.

He didn’t seem to treat anything with seriousness. He would often make jokes questioning even the Olympian gods, which almost everyone thought was knee-slapping funny.

It was almost inconceivable that he would take such umbrage at being argued with that he would resort to scorched-earth tactics.

The question then became who or what had caused this change. No answers were forthcoming, so he redoubled his efforts to find the information himself.

The sense of the sands of time running down on him was growing oppressive, and to add to his frustrations, there was a growing sense that the answers were right there in front of him.

In desperation, he went to the temple of Athena, and sacrificed to her, praying she would give him the answers he was so desperate for.

That evening, she came to him in a dream, suggesting that he write down everything he had learned. He awoke with a start, the idea fresh in his mind. He lit a candle, and began working at the appointed task.

He was amazed at how much came pouring forth from him, and as he wrote, he began making connections, and leaps of logic that had never occurred to him before.

At last, he set down his pen, and panted for euphoric breath. He read over his notes with a rising sense of joy. He poured himself a cup of wine, and poured out a generous drink offering to Athena and Zeus.

He knew where she was staying, and he intended to finish the matter tonight. He spent the rest of the day in preparations, ignoring the pupil he was supposed to betaking care of. He was devoted to his self-appointed mission, and he wouldn’t be swayed from it by anything.

He waited until nightfall before setting out for Andora the matron’s house. He decided to avoid the city, and make his approach through the countryside, lest she se him coming.

He would find out where she was sleeping, and he would wait for her. He had a goldsmith’s mallet, and a stake from an olive sapling.

He had to do some fast-talking to get Menalus to loan him the hammer. Still, he’d been ready to steal it, like he had stolen the olive sapling. After tonight, the thefts wouldn’t mean anything.

He knew that his friend Nikopolous would take the loss hard, but it would break the enchantment he was under. Once that was done, things should start returning to normal.

He was aware that a hostile pair of eyes was following his every move. He moved with a steady but hurried gait, waiting for his foe. Then his stride began to falter as he looked around.

By Zeus, it felt as if he was being watched. He looked up, but the silver disk of Artemis in the Stygian blackness was all he saw. He shook his head, and continued on his way.

Still, the feeling gripped him, and he was unable to shake it. He was going to need every ounce of confidence he possessed if he was going to see this through to completion.

That little harpy would fight him every step of the way for her life, and she would probably try playing on his sympathy in her disguise as a woman. He must harden his heart, and be ready to strike the fatal blow when it came time.

His breath was coming in panting spurts, and the sweat poured off of him. Icy fingers clutched at his entrails. Something was coming after him!

He tried telling himself he was being paranoid, but the feeling wouldn’t give him any peace. The cloud of menace was growing choking, threatening to become a death shroud. Still he plowed on, full of grim determination to see this thing through to the end.

Then he felt a pair of hostile eyes burning twin holes in the back of his neck. He spun around, eyes looking in every direction, letting out little exhalations of surprise.

He saw nothing. He began to calm down, chiding himself for being a foolish old woman, when he saw it. Flitting about him was a wolf-like creature with glowing red eyes.

Realization hit him like a sledgehammer, and his breath clogged in his throat. He had underestimated her, and the hunter had become the hunted.

It stood up on its hind legs, taking a more humanoid form. Then it leaned back its lupine head, and let out a long howl. He was chilled to the marrow by the sound.

He could only see the dim outlines of his foe in the silvery moonlight, which he suspected was a small mercy. The beast seemed to be a mixture of human and animal, but belonging to neither. If he were to see such a monstrosity in the sunlight, it would probably destroy his sanity.

Then he realized he had one chance to destroy the monster, and he was wasting time. He lunged forward, intent on driving a stake through the heart of the beast. The problem was, it was too fast for him.

It moved to one side, swatting the stake out of his hand. “You foolish old man! Do you really think you can stop me with that?”

A steely hand clamped down on his throat. In the moonlight, he could see that it was green and scaly, rather than furry. “I knew that I would have to deal with you sooner or later, but you have saved me the trouble.”

Then he heard a wet crunching sound, as it crushed his larynx. He was already spiraling down into unconsciousness from oxygen deprivation as the monster used a claw to unzip his steaming intestines.

The next day, his death caused a sensation in Athens. The general consensus was that a wild animal had killed Theocritos. The argument was over what kind of animal it might have been.

All sorts of ideas were thrown out, and travelers sought to impress with their cosmopolitan attitudes by talking about animals they had seen in their travels. Missed in all the excitement was that Theocritos’s body had been drained of blood.

Nikopolous was tormented by guilt, despite the fact that their last meeting had been on less than amicable terms. Alexandros went into eclipse for his vicious rumormongering against the dead man.

The one solver lining, as far as Nikopolous was concerned, Diademia became more solicitous of him, and the tragedy brought them together like nothing else could have. He only hoped his friend could appreciate the irony of the situation down in Hades.

When he broached the subject of marriage again, this time she did not demure, but consented. The news was treated with the greatest rejoicing, and a huge marriage feast was prepared.

There would be music and poetry recitations, with dancing for the women, and athletic competitions for the men. The festivities seemed to go on forever, but at last came the time to be alone with his new bride.

As he carried her over the threshold, he was overcome with a sense of unreality. Could this vision of loveliness really be his?

Had all the good and bad that had happened to him since seeing her in the marketplace actually happened to him? Or was this one long dream? He wasn’t sure, but he was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.

She removed her bridal garments, casting her eyes downward as he feasted his eyes on her in the moonlight. Then he grinned as she removed his tunic, and embraced her.

She giggled as she felt his tumescence swelling between them. Then she shoved him back onto the bed, and straddled his waist. As he watched, she drew designs on his chest with her fingernails, love shining in her dark eyes.

Then her eyebrows lowered, and her lips curved into a pout. “What’s the matter, beloved?”

She looked at him. “It’s such a tragedy that it all must end now. I was truly beginning to enjoy this.”

His brow knotted. “What are you talking about? We are married now. We have the rest of our lives together.”

Her voice dropped an octave, becoming rougher. “An unfortunate choice of words.”

His mouth dropped open as her eyes began to glow red, and her canines lengthened. Her face also began to undergo a change, becoming more lupine, her hands becoming claws.

She growled, “You should have listened to your friend. He actually put up a fight before he died.”

Nikopolous took a deep breath to scream. Her claw pushed up on his jaw, and clamped on his lower face. It stifled him, and exposed his throat. All he was able to manage was a bubbly gurgle as she tore out his throat with a crunching and wet ripping sound.