Succubus Hunter 2 (The Succubus Series)

by Daniel Pierce

  To say the mummies were having a tough time adjusting to the modern day would have been an understatement. I stuck around for a while, concerned that the oddly behaving group were likely to draw attention to themselves. It was going to be tough enough to hide one-hundred-fifty people living in one house in a residential neighborhood as is., They needed to be quiet and unobtrusive. Despite Pembroke’s repeated assurances that it would all be fine, I was having serious doubts.

  For one thing, the wonders of electric lighting were fascinating to them. Whenever one of them found a light switch they would begin to flip it on and off while the others watched in fascination at this magical control over the power of light and dark. From outside the house must have looked we were throwing constant raves.

  Plumbing was another wonder for the mummies. Despite the explicit instructions on the use of the restrooms given by Pembroke and a few of the other more adjusted family members, within just a few hours every toilet in the mansion was clogged and overflowing from them attempting to flush various objects, and the sinks became a mess of soap and bodily discharge.

  There was also the matter of the small fire which, if it had been allowed to burn a little longer, might have brought the fire department to call and then we would have had some real explaining to do. From that point on, Pembroke made the kitchen off-limits to all but a trusted few, because “apparently the concept of an electric stove is beyond some people.” I’d admit I found some of the mummies’ behavior amusing, if only because I was not going to be the one responsible for cleaning it up. There was a bit of schadenfreude in watching someone else’s property get wrecked by supernatural forces for once.

  What was not amusing were the weapons. I saw them as I walked between the rooms to observe the mummies unpack, curious what someone who had been buried in mud for hundreds of years thinks is worth putting in a suitcase, only to find that instead of clothes and trinkets every bag was packed full of instruments of war. Swords and staves, axes and daggers, bows and crossbows—hundreds of the deadly instruments, enough for each of the one-hundred-fifty mummies to have three apiece, at the very least.

  And they seemed quite ready to use them, stiff limbs or not. I watched them take some practice swings and break off into pairs to spar, then take out sharpening stones and oils to get the deadliest edges. A pair of older looking men practiced fighting back-to-back with paired knives with curved blades. The house quickly went from a scene from a supernatural comedy to a barracks in the midst of preparations for war.

  They were not just prepared to fight, but eager for it, and if what I heard earlier was a universal sentiment, ready to die.

  I could feel my time limit before this turned into bloodshed grow rapidly shorter. The moment these guys got one whiff of Benazir’s location or vice versa, they were all going to kill each other, and any civilians who might be caught in the middle.

  With time running thin, I said my farewells to Pembroke and rushed to find Benazir before they did. Though I doubted I’d have any more luck finding her than I had so far.

  But I did know one person I could track: Allgeir. A wealthy man like that running around and flexing his new powers in public? Shouldn’t take long.

  I just hoped it was not already too late.

  18

  It turned out the only thing more difficult than tracking down someone who masked their movements and made every attempt to be private was tracking someone being so loud and obnoxious that he seemed to be everywhere at once. Franklin Allgeir, if it truly was him and not some imposter using his name after his apparent death, was making waves all over New York City. Even with my team fully mobilized, we couldn’t seem to narrow his movements down enough to find him.

  Lyanne used her ability to fit into any high society function to crash a yacht party that Allgeir was supposedly in attendance of, only to find he was no longer there. Several of the guests claimed to have seen him loudly complaining about the drink selection before pigging out on the hors d'oeuvres. He was said to have only stayed a blessedly short time before departing, with Lyanne getting three different accounts of which way he was supposedly headed.

  Eve decided to check out an underground gambling club where big money types liked to make ludicrous wagers, which Allgeir was supposed to have become a recent patron of. After breaking a few fingers of men who thought she was part of the entertainment, she heard that Allgeir had recently lost big bets on poker, blackjack, and every other card game in the house, but hadn’t been seen in a couple days.

  Sara was running a massive scan of social media for any picture or reference to Allgeir, and having Darcy chase all around the city anytime she found something. Darcy stopped by a hair salon, a taco truck, two separate bars, and 24-hour dry cleaners. I would have felt bad for her, but she was the one who bragged about knowing the city the best.

  As for me, I prowled around the usual immortal hotspots, making threats and occasionally pulling out The Night Flail when some young fool who hadn’t heard of me decided to bear their fangs. Just as the girls had discovered, Allgeir seemed to be in one place for a short while, making a scene as if he was trying to ensure he would be remembered being there, and then disappearing. No one knew where he was staying, what he was planning, or even how he’d acquired supernatural strength.

  Thinking I could use an extra hand, and perhaps a set of eyes that could see what I couldn’t, I decided to give Jexie a call. It went straight to voicemail. I realized then that I hadn’t heard from her at all since she went off to handle family things. I’d been busy enough that I hadn’t had much time to think about it, but now my concern that there might be a connection between her and Allgeir spiked. I don’t believe in coincidence, and until I’m proven wrong, that will be my default setting for any and all sketchy events in my life.

  Lyanne made a pleading call to Jexie’s service provider, claiming to be her very concerned sister fearful that Jexie might be getting in with the wrong crowd again. There are few people, men or women, who could resist the promises inherent in Lyanne’s voice, and we were soon able to track Jexie’s phone using an app on our own as if we were all part of the same family plan.

  Unfortunately, the trail led us to a dumpster. Fortunately, the dumpster only contained her phone and wasn’t the worst scenario I had imagined.

  I made a call to Pembroke, whose business connections to Jexie’s parents I hoped would allow him to help me locate her.

  “My deepest apology, old boy,” Pembroke said, speaking loudly to be heard over the mayhem in the background. There was a sound that I could only identify as a horse, though I knew that couldn’t be right. “They always came to me when we needed to do business in person, and most of our arrangements have been made via wire or phone. Haven’t heard from them since they arranged the flight for my relatives, actually, which is strange. Usually the money-grubbers would have called moments before the plane was due to department to try and renegotiate a higher fee.”

  I tried, and likely failed, to keep the frustration out of my voice. “So you can’t help me find them or Jexie.”

  “Is it urgent? Hopefully this isn’t just for what you Americans refer to as a booty call.”

  No, I need her to find Allgeir so I can find Benazir so I can stop her before you two kill each other. “No, Pembroke, this is important.”

  “Now now, there’s no need for that kind of tone. Pop by the mansion at your earliest convenience, I’ve got something that can help.”

  When you’re able to make portals, it’s a pretty quick trip to anywhere you’ve been before, so my earliest convenience happened to be just a few seconds after I hung up the phone. I made sure to set the other end of the portal in Pembroke’s backyard, where a tall wooden fence would likely protect it from prying eyes. I didn’t want to risk opening it inside the crowded house, since I wasn’t quite sure what would happen if a portal opened directly atop a person, and I wasn’t keen to find out.

  Pembroke greeted me at the backdoor with feigned impatie
nce. “Took you long enough. Did you stop at every pub along the way? Come along, then. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  I tried my best to ignore the chaos of the house as one hundred and fifty mummies destroyed Pembroke’s security deposit. He led me to the mostly-off-limits kitchen where he introduced me to a man who looked mostly normal aside from the swimmer’s nose clip he was wearing. “This here’s my best tracker, Dart. Say hello, Dart.”

  The sandy haired man gave a faint smile. “Hello Dart.”

  Pembroke smacked Dart on the back like an appliance dealer showing off a washer’s features. “Dart here’s a rare breed of mummy whose got a nose like a bloodhound. Give him a scent to follow and he can track it to near the ends of the earth. Dart, tell them about that one time you tracked a mugger through a rainstorm across a crowded park.”

  Dart’s tone was monotonous. “One time, I tracked a mugger through a rainstorm across a crowded park.”

  Pembroke just nodded like that was exactly what he intended Dart to say. “Just give him one whiff and he’ll track the girl, no worries.”

  “I have a couple of things from when she was staying at my place.” I looked at Dart, whose glassy-eyed expression didn’t do much to build my confidence, but it was not like I had many other options. “When can we get started?”

  Dart gave a small shrug. “No time like the present.”

  He claimed an article of clothing would give him the best scent for tracking her, though I chose to ignore his insistence that undergarments were the optimal choice and returned with a shirt of hers instead. Dart removed his nose clip and gave the shirt a deep sniff, then he sniffed the night air and pointed in an eastward direction. “That way. But far. We should drive.”

  Despite my best efforts, I had yet to make a portal big enough to fit a car into, and driving around in Pembroke’s luxury bus didn’t seem practical, so we caught a cab. I made up a story about Dart getting car sick easily to explain why he was sticking his head out the window like a dog, and made pretend like we were dumb tourists to explain why our directions needed to suddenly change. Dart, who had never seen the city before except from outside a bus window, didn’t need to act. His wonder was genuine.

  We got out when Dart said the scent was close enough for us to track on foot. I tipped the driver generously for his patience, though that didn’t dissuade him from flicking us off as he drove away. That couldn’t dampen Dart’s spirits, who looked so much like an energetic dog about to make a break for it that I wondered if I should have put a leash on him.

  “Do you smell that air?” Dart exclaimed, spinning in place and taking deep sniffs. “So rich, so vibrant, so full of life!”

  All I could smell was exhaust and sewage. “You don’t say. So about Jexie …”

  “I never could have imagined such sights and sounds and smells! It sets my poetic heart aflutter!”

  Just once, it would be nice to work with someone who was normal. “Poetic heart, eh? And here I thought the hearts of undead didn’t work anymore.”

  Dart gave a dismissive wave. “Figure of speech. Technically my heart is in a jar somewhere, probably gathering dust in some forgotten crypt. But poetry is still my first and foremost love. That was my career, back when my heart was still in my chest—well, it was what I aspired my career to be anyway, but the world of poetry in the 1700s was a brutal and unforgiving one. I was willing to starve for my art, of course, but the bloody flux caught me first.”

  “That what turned you into …” I gestured to his nose.

  He touched it with his forefinger. “In a manner of speaking. It killed me, and Pembroke brought me back as his kin, a fellow mummy. I’m not sure what caused my special condition. My first memory after laying on my death bed is waking swaddled in bandages and a nose that could pick up every scent for miles.”

  It sounded like an extraordinarily useful ability, so it was no wonder Pembroke kept him tucked away until he was needed. I briefly considered skipping the middleman and asking if he could track Benazir directly, but I realized if it was that easy Pembroke would have done it already. Besides which, Jexie could be in some kind of trouble and need help. “Hate to break up your fond recollections, but we’re here to find Jexie.”

  Dart sighed but seemed to calm down a bit and took a few more subtle sniffs of the air. “This way.”

  For all his oddities, Dart proved to be an effective tracker, and within an hour we came to the front of a building with a sign reading ‘Imports / Exports, Specialty Shipping, Safe Antiquity Handling.’ I had no doubt based on the descriptions I had gotten from Jexie that this was her parents’ business.

  “Looks like they’re closed,” Dart said as he peered through the darkened windows. “The trail definitely goes in here, though. Come back tomorrow?”

  “Won’t do us any good.” I pointed to another sign that read ‘Closed for remodeling,’ with no indication on when it might be reopened. I had my suspicions that it would not be anytime soon. “I hope you don’t have any moral gripes about breaking and entering.”

  Dart looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve never seen the inside of an American prison before.”

  I took that as permission to go ahead. Without Lyanne there wasn’t anyone to pick locks, but there was no need for that when a little force works just as well. There was no way to tell at a glance whether or not doing so had set off any alarms, so I decided we ought to be quick about this unless I wanted to Dart to get his wish about experiencing prison.

  Nothing about the place struck me as unusual. It looked like any one of a hundred cookie cutter offices I’d been to in the city. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, exactly, but for a company that deals in antiquities and smuggling mummies, I thought there’d be something more … suitable for an Indiana Jones flick.

  But there were no booby traps. No golden monkey statues or engraved treasure chests. Not even a single ruby-embedded chalice placed precariously on a pedestal under the moonlight. Just desks, computers, and well-organized file cabinets. Reality can be such a letdown when your expectations are shaped my action films.

  The only thing that stood out at all on our search was a long, coffin-shaped crate we found in the backroom. It was empty now, but its presence reminded me that Pembroke had said he had been smuggled into the country inside his sarcophagus. The crate was a likely candidate for how that was accomplished.

  It became clear that Jexie wasn’t here, and while I would have liked to stick around and look for more clues, we needed to be out of there in case the police were on their way to respond to an alarm. “Where does the trail lead from here?”

  Dart took a couple sniffs of the air, paused, then sniffed again, harder this time. “That’s weird.”

  “What is it?”

  “Her trail is ... gone. It just ends here, like she just disappeared.”

  It was all I could do to keep myself from shaking the supposedly great bloodhound. “Are you sure? Maybe if you got another sniff of the shirt?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s really gone, not just masked. It’s kind of like when you went through that portal before, your scent just kind of ended at the portal. There’s got to be some kind of trick like that at work here, because scents don’t just disappear like that.”

  I sighed and took one last glance around the office. “Well, whatever it is, I won’t be able to figure it out right now. Let’s get out of here.”

  We had just stepped outside when Dart stumbled and nearly fell. I caught him and helped him steady himself, but I could tell he was having trouble keeping his feet. He seemed weak. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing much. I’m just … I’m afraid my days as a starving artist aren’t quite that far behind me. I haven’t had a chance to eat anything substantial since I was summoned.”

  I patted my wallet to make sure I still had cash leftover after tipping the cab driver. “Can’t have you fainting on the way back. Let’s grab a bite.”

  Dart’s
eyes lighted up. “Yes, I heard this was the city that never sleeps. Even at this hour restaurants continue to serve. What would you recommend as New York’s most pinnacle delicacy?”

  And that was how I found myself at a pizza place in the early hours of the morning, across the table from a mummy who was wolfing down a large pie with both hands, covering his face and clothes with grease in the process. The owners whispered something about drugs but thankfully didn’t seem to think to the scene that unusual, and I’d paid in advance with a healthy tip. Fifty bucks goes a long way toward excusing lousy table manners.

  “D’you know, I once ate a roasted human foot because I was trapped in a tower during a war?” Dart said casually.

  I expected some kind of follow-up to that odd aside but Dart just put his attention back to the pizza, which was now mostly gone. It wasn’t until he noticed me staring that he added, “This pizza is much better than the foot.”

  Using a portal, I dropped Dart back off at his home, thanking Pembroke for the loan and promising to contact him if anything came up, then returned to my own sanctuary in Vermont for some much-needed rest. A good sleep might have been just what I needed to not only rid myself of this fatigue but to banish the frustration that had been building from running around in circles and getting no closer than when I started.

  Unfortunately, it seemed rest was not on the agenda, as no sooner had I come through the door than I was called by Sara into the main room. She was seated at her computer, mumbling to herself at a rapid pace like she does when she’s working something out.

  I let out a yawn to let her know I was behind her and I was tired. “What is it, Sara? Can it wait till morning? Well, later morning, after I’ve slept?”

  She spun in her chair so fast she nearly knocked herself off it. “It can’t! Remember how I’ve been scanning social media for signs of Allgeir, and checking the profiles and posts of everyone who knows or is somehow associated with him? Well, I was just checking Jexie’s, and look what was just posted.”