She'd sworn when she fled her parental captivity twelve years before that she'd never let Succubus be used againSuccubus would only give pleasure to those who had little chance for pleasure otherwise.

Damn Miller. Damn the dwarf for talking me into this. Damn him for sending me to this man. Damn me for finding that I like Gregg too much. And most of all damn the virus for forcing me to remain hidden from him. God, that dinner at the Aces High yesterday.

Sondra knew that the affection Hartmann claimed to have for her was genuine, and she hated the realization. Yet her concern for the jokers was genuine as well, and her involvement with the JJS was a deep commitment. Knowing the government and, especially, SCARE was crucial. Hartmann influenced the aces that were beginning to side with the authorities after long, hidden years: Black Shadow, the Shaker,

Oddity, the Howler. Through Hartmann, the JJS had been able to channel government monies to the jokers-Sondra had discovered the lowest bids on several government contracts; they'd been able to leak the information to joker-owned companies. Most importantly, it was because she controlled Hartmann that she was able to keep Miller from finally turning the JJS into the violent radical group that the dwarf wanted. While she could dangle the senator from Succubus's hands, she could limit Gimli's ambition. At least, that was her hope-after the Aces High fiasco, she was no longer certain. Gimli had been grim and sullen at their meeting this evening.

"You're tired, love," she said to Gregg, tracing the line where his light hair dipped into a widow's peak.

"You wear me out," he replied. The smile returned, tentative, and she brushed his lips with her own.

"You seem distracted, that's all. The convention?" Her hand slid down his body, over the stomach that age was beginning to soften. She caressed his inner thighs, using Succubus's energies to relax him, to put him at ease. Gregg was always tense, and there was also that wall in his mind that he would never open, a weak mindblock that would be useless against most of the aces she knew. She doubted that Gregg even realized that the block was there, that he too had been touched, however mildly, by the virus.

She felt the first resurgence of his passion.

"It wasn't very good there," he admitted, cuddling her to him. "The vote didn't have a chance, not with all the moderates against it-they're all afraid of a conservative groundswell. If Reagan can knock Ford out of the nomination, then the whole show's up in the air. Carter and Kennedy were both dead set against the plank-neither one of them wanted to be stuck supporting causes they weren't sure about. As the front-runners, their nonsupport was too much." Gregg sighed. "It wasn't even close, Succubus."

The words seemed to coat her mind with ice and she had to fight to hold her form as Succubus. By now the word would be spreading through Jokertown. By now Gimli would know; he'd be organizing the march for tomorrow. "You can't reintroduce the plank?"

"Not now." He stroked her breasts, circling her aureola with a forefinger. "Succubus, you don't know how I looked forward to seeing you after all this. It's been a very long and frustrating night." Gregg turned to her and she snuggled against him comfortably, though her mind raced.

Musing, she nearly missed his words. "… f the JJS insists, it's going to be very bad."

Her hand stopped moving on him. "Yes?" she prompted.

But it was already too late. Already, she could feel the tug of his lust. His hand closed on hers. "Feel," he said. His hardness throbbed on her thigh. Again, she began to sink into him, helpless. Her concentration left her. He kissed her and her mouth burned; she straddled his body, guiding him into her once more. Inside, trapped, Sondra railed at Succubus. Damn you, he was talking about the JJS.

Afterward, exhausted, Gregg would say very little. It was all she could do to convince him to leave the apartment before her form collapsed and she became an old woman again.

The New York Times, July 16, 1976

New York Daily News, July 16, 1976

Gimli exhorted the milling jokers from the tailgate of a rusty Chevy pickup truck, waving his short arms frantically, his face flushed with the effort of screaming, sweat dripping from his beard. They were gathered in Roosevelt Park near Grand, the sun baking New York from a cloudless sky, the early morning temperature already in the high eighties and heading for a possible three figures. The shade of the few trees did nothing to ease the sweltering-Sondra could barely manage to breathe. She felt her age with every step as she approached the pickup and Gimii, dark circles of perspiration under the arms of her calico sundress.

"Gimii?" she said, and her voice was a cracked and broken thing.

"NO, ASSHOLE! MOVE IT OVER THERE BY MARIGOLD! Hello, Sondra. You ready to walk?-I could use you to keep the back of the group organized. I'll give you Gargantua's cart and the cripples-that'll give you a place to ride that's away from the crowds and you can keep the ones in front moving. I need someone to make sure Gargantua doesn't do anything too fucking dumb. You got the route? We'll go down Grand to Broadway, then across to the Tomb at Fulton-"

"Gimli," Sondra said insistently.

"What, goddammit?" Miller put his hand on his hip. He wore only a pair of paisley shorts, exposing the massive barrel chest and the stubby, powerful legs and arms, all liberally covered with reddish-brown curly hair. His bass voice was a growl. "They say the police are gathering around the park gates and putting up barricades." Sondra glared at Miller accusingly. "I told you that we were going to have trouble getting out of here."

"Yeah. Piss. Fuck 'em, we'll go anyway."

"They won't let us. Remember what Hartmann said at the Aces High? Remember what I told you he mentioned last night?" The old woman folded her bony arms over the tattered front of the sundress. "You'll destroy the JJS if you get into a fight here…"

"What's the matter, Sondra? You suck the guy's cock and take in all his political crap as well?" Miller laughed and hopped down from the pickup to the parched grass. Around them, two hundred to three hundred jokers milled about near the Grand Street entrance to the park. Miller frowned into Sondra's glare and dug bare toes into the dirt. "All right," he said. "I'll go fucking look at this, since it bothers you so much."

At the wrought-iron gate, they could see the police putting up wooden barricades across their intended path. Several of the jokers came up to Sondra and Miller as they approached. "You gonna go ahead, Gimli?" one of them asked. The joker wore no clothes-his body was hard, chitinous, and he moved with a lurching, rolling gait, his limbs stiff.

"I'll tell you in a minute, huh, Peanut?" Gimli answered. He squinted into the distance, their bodies throwing long shadows down the street. "Clubs, riot gear, tear gas, water cannon. The whole fucking works."

"Exactly what we wanted, Gimli," Peanut answered. "We'll lose people. They'll get hurt, maybe killed. Some of them can't take clubs, you know. Some of them might react to the tear gas," Sondra commented.