She shouldn’t have even been on this mission in the first place.  The Statesman sure as hell didn’t want her here and with this particular mix, the feeling was very mutual.  Champ had only requested a Roanoke assist because of *vague* info stating that there might be occult activity within the terrorist compound the agency was investigating.

Succubus wasn’t cut out for spy work.  She knew that, Ale knew that, Rye knew that, hell even Vermouth knew that and she was the nicest of the Shit Show Cocktail of a team that Champ dropped Succubus in.  Why did *she* have to be the one on call today?

“What the hell are you doin’?  On your left!  Jesus, didn’t Roanoke at least teach ya to be aware on the field.  Stay behind us if you’re too nervous to shoot, kitten.”  Rye scolded, adding insult to injury with the patronizing pet name.

But Succubus had kept her mouth shut and moved to the rear of the group making a mental note to put a hex on him once they were back.  By the end of the mission though a small hex would be the least of her worries.  

There was no occult activity.  Just some old, useless symbols that the idiotic white supremacist terror cell thought brought it power.  There were, however, a lot of guns suddenly aimed at them when they made it to the main bunker.  All Succubus could focus on was how heavy the gun felt in her hands and how they weren’t rounds meant for cursed or dead things but actual bullets.  Actual bullets that left a spray of matter against the acid stained concrete wall when she landed a head shot, her first head shot since she left her life in Cryptic Revolutionists behind her.  She forgot how hard it was to stomach.

By the end of it the air was filled with smoke and the smell of iron so heavy Succubus could taste it at the back of her throat.  The team breathed a sigh of relief- until Vermouth dropped.

One of the outside guards they missed had creeped in behind them and shot Vermouth in the back, the bullet leaving an exit wound the size of a golf ball in her sternum and tearing her twill embroidered shirt in the process.  Ale put a bullet in the shooters throat as Rye and Succubus kneeled trying desperately to help.  Blood was bubbling up and pouring out of her mouth as she tried to speak clawing at both of them in a panic before her limbs finally settled and the horrible gurgle of her labored breathing ceased almost as soon as it started.  There was a moment of silence from both the team and handlers on the other side of the glasses before Ale broke it.

“Fix it.”  He said to Succubus in a voice that quivered with rage and denial.

“...what?”

“Fix.  It. You’re the freak who can do that, right?  Bring her back now.”

Succubus scoffed, “I can’t do that here.  This area isn’t cleansed, I don’t have any of my supplies for a full resurrection-”

Ale’s glasses were suddenly off and silenced before he reached down and pulled her up by the shirt bringing their faces so close she could see the blood vessels threatening to pop in his eyes, feel the sweat drip off his forehead.  Her own glasses getting thrown off in the process and crushed beneath Rye’s boot.

“You were supposed to watch the fucking back.  This is your fault!  Fix it now and bring her back or it won’t just be Statesman that loses an agent on this assignment.  I’ll make sure of it.”

He pushed her back to the floor and Succubus didn’t know what to do.  She looked to Rye hoping that maybe the stoic agent would talk some sense into his partner only to find his arms crossed, glasses in hand- also disconnected from HQ.  They were in the dark and she remembered how much of a boy’s club Statesman still was.  If they killed her now no one would question their story.  It reminded her of another group of boys her freshmen year of college and the stench of kerosene soaking into her hair and clothes.  She began to shake.

“I can’t I don’t have what I need to do it, I’m sorry Ale-”

Without hesitating Ale bent down during her pleading and picked up Vermouth’s shooter’s handgun that skidded across the floor.  The still hot muzzle pressed into the soft spot just under her ear.

“Fix her.”  His voice was still angry but Succubus could see the tears welling up and sliding down his cheeks.

She had never brought back a fatal gunshot to the chest before, especially not without some sort of soil conduit to protect her from absorbing all the death.  The area wasn’t even cleansed, still crawling with the spirits of the terrorists they had killed.  No chalk, no circle, no dirt- how could she do this without dirt?

“Ale’s lookin’ a little trigger happy, best get to movin’.”

Her nerves subsided to anger and she bit back, “You think you’re the first assholes to put a gun to my head?  You better pray this turns out peachy because if anything happens to me there will be a shitstorm coming for both of you.”

Worst case scenario she would just be indisposed for a few days, well actually no that was best case scenario, worst case scenario she’d absorb the gunshot completely and die from phantom wounds.  Neither sounded great but with the burn of the muzzle still pressing into her skin she got to work scraping off as much mud from her boots as she could and packing it into the hole in Vermouth’s sternum.  It was enough to fill the exit wound while Succubus closed her eyes, placing one hand over the gunshot and the other on Vermouth’s stomach.  Poltergeist had only ever told her about vestigial resurrection like this- crude and raw using nothing but the necromancer’s own power and even then most stories or legends that depicted it often mentioned the act as a last resort.  A sacrifice in almost all accounts.  

It was like holding onto an electric fence even as your body screams at you to let go.  

Succubus could feel the body convulse under her hands, the dirt that had been stuffed into the wound slowly developing into flesh to fill the gap, and the essence of death being absorbed into her own body.  It was much faster than traditional necromancy rites and thank goodness for that because Succubus couldn’t hold on for much longer.  Vermouth’s soul hadn’t actually gone far so when her body did finish healing and her brain began firing off again her soul slammed back in so hard it knocked all three of them flat while Vermouth shot up with a hand to her chest.

“Goodness gracious!  Y’all would not believe the dream I had, did I get knocked out?  What happened?  Whew I feel great, come on what are y’all doin’ on your butts let’s go!”

Still crying like a baby, Ale managed to scramble up and hug Vermouth until she pushed him off.  By now the glasses were back on and HQ was going insane about the black out, that only increased when Vermouth came into view and her vitals reappeared.  

“You...you brought me back?  I don’t know what to say, I mean you Roanoke gals have always kind of scared me, but...that was amazing, I feel great.  Thank you.”  Vermouth gave her a genuine smile and offered her a hand up.

Succubus took her offering and was going to give a rather cocky remark about how easy it was until her body remembered what exactly it absorbed and began forcing it back out.  The death essence coming up as thick, black bile with so much force it sent her to her knees as she vomited.  It didn’t stop.  Even when the extraction and med team finally arrived all they could do was dab the sweat off her forehead and turn her on her side while she slipped in and out of consciousness.  Succubus almost preferred the vomiting over the chest pains that followed when they made it back to HQ and although Lilith appeared trying to tell her she would be fine there was an uncharacteristic twinge of concern in her voice.

“Clementine, dearie just stay with us Cherub is going to take care of you and you’ll be right as rain.  Drake’s already got in contact with Hart and he’s on his way, we wouldn’t want to make him worry would we?”

“Lilith, I didn’t-” Succubus tried to explain but the pain got to be too much and her words disappeared into gasps.