by Antara Mann
I exchanged glances with Carlos. “Well, succubi can turn out to be quite useful. And honest,” I said.
Brendan chuckled, amused by my comment. “Usually they’re not, but it was in that one’s best interest to tell us the truth. Anyway, Corrie also found a phone number.” He was already dialing it.
Unfortunately, the call was answered by Elliott Rumford’s secretary, who cut Brendan off. “He is very busy” was all she said. Even the mention of NYPD didn’t faze her. Brendan said she had promised to relay the message to her boss, but unless there was a warrant, Mr. Rumford couldn’t meet with Brendan any sooner than the next week.
“We could try to get a search warrant, but I think it’d be more effective if we back Larson into a corner and he talks Elliott into meeting with us,” Brendan said. He waved the waitress over and asked for the check.
“Lunch is on the house, Mr. Sax,” she said.
“What?” He turned to her, surprised, just as a gorgeous blond woman appeared, looking like she’d stepped out of a Playboy cover. She wore a white apron and smelled of bread, cookies, and spices. Her magic made me think of delicious food eaten around the warmth of the hearth — which totally made sense, since she was also a hearth witch. He magic was wholesome and powerful.
“Brendan, baby, where have you been?” She hugged him warmly. “We haven’t seen you here for a long time! I was starting to worry about you. I’m glad to see you — and who are your friends?”
Brendan chuckled nervously. “Kim, hi. I’m glad to see you, too,” he said, slightly embarrassed, and turned his gaze to us. “Uh, these are my colleagues, police detective Carlos Delvalle, and Alex Shaw, an independent consultant. I appreciate your offer to treat us, but there’s no need — I insist.”
“I don’t know why you won’t let me do something nice for you.” She winked at him and turned her gaze to Carlos and me. I noticed that Carlos’ jaw had dropped, and no wonder. She looked like a cross between Scarlett Johansson and Jessica Alba, so naturally men drooled all over her. I had to admit she was stunning. I got the impression she had that little extra something that average beauties lacked: wit and soul — a rare gem.
I nodded at her in greeting. Carlos had, in the meanwhile, regained his composure and said, in a slightly hoarse voice, “Nice to meet you.”
“Well, detective, I don’t want to distract you from your official duties. Whenever you have time, drop by my humble restaurant. You're always welcome,” she said flirtatiously to Brendan, a mischievous grin pasted on her pretty face.
“So, I see you didn’t get bored in New York, hon,” I said, imitating the sexy hearth witch’s tone, after she had gone.
“I can’t blame you, dude. That witch is a hell of a sexy lady.” Carlos grinned. He was still staring after her.
Brendan cast us a disapproving look. “Don’t you two have an investigation to rack your brains over? Roll up your sleeves and get to work. We have a culprit to catch,” he growled and stormed out of the Lucky Leprechaun, while I tried to suppress my laughter.
***
“Yes, Sergeant Sax? Can I help you with something?” Larson's secretary asked from behind her enormous desk. Brendan drove us back to Universal Credit Bank on West Wall Street.
“You can help me.” Brendan leaned toward Mr. Larson’s attractive secretary and smiled at her in his typical fashion, showing his white teeth. “We’d like to question your boss, Mr. Larson.”
The girl looked bemused. “Again?”
“Yes. Some new information has come up regarding the case,” I added.
She phoned her boss and, a few minutes later, escorted us into the luxurious office of the deputy CEO of Universal Credit Bank. We found him behind his mahogany desk reading something on his laptop, appearing deep in thought.
“What can I help you with?” Larson greeted us, without bothering to get up from his big black leather chair.
“For a start, you can begin telling the truth,” I said, sitting sideways on the mahogany desk.
I saw tiny droplets of sweat forming on Larson’s forehead. “I… I don’t understand you.”
“Game over, Mr. Larson. We know about the Hollow Skull society,” Carlos said.
Larson’s face paled. “How — how did you find out about the, uh… secret society?” His voice was practically a whisper.
“We are NYPD, aren’t we?” Brendan said as he studied the paintings on the wall. They were landscapes and pictures of beautiful girls, but without being obscene or erotic. I liked them, too, and it occurred to me that they had no occult overtones whatsoever.
“I suggest you loosen your tongue and start telling us what the nature of your and Mr. Stone's involvement was in that secret society. Or would you prefer I get a warrant for your arrest?” Brendan stood over him.
Larson cleared his throat and loosened his tie. I noticed his hands were shaking slightly. “Okay, okay: I’ll tell you everything, under one condition — whatever I tell you has to stay between us. I am a public figure, I have a family and children — I don’t want my secrets to be disclosed.”
Brendan smiled. “We can’t promise such a thing, and you know that. But assuming that whatever you were doing was legal, I assure you there is nothing to worry about.”
Larson contemplated Brendan’s words, then wiped at the droplets of sweat on his forehead and face and finally said. “Well, Daniel and I were members of a secret society — nothing special, we just participated in their swinger parties. I only did it for the sex. The women — oh boy, you have no idea what the women there were like!” he exclaimed. Excitement gleamed in his eyes. The man was quite a hedonist.
“I think we can imagine,” I muttered, smirking. I was familiar with the succubus species. Succubi were the Magic Council’s favorite suspects when it came to supernatural sex crimes, and Brendan and I had even hunted a few of them during my gig as an independent consultant.
Mr. Larson only cast me a glance and continued with his story. “That was my reason for being a member of the society, but for Daniel, the sex wasn’t important. He wanted power and magic. Frankly, I’ve never believed in magic and the like, but Daniel — he believed with all his heart. And maybe that's why he met this kind of end.” He sighed and shook his head.
“Did Mr. Stone share anything with you about recent developments in his magical, uh… quest?”
Larson’s high-pitched laughter resounded in the office like an echo. “A magical quest? Are you serious? That stuff doesn’t actually exist, does it?”
“Of course not,” Brendan hastily added.
“There were ritualistic aspects to Mr. Stone’s murder, which we’re trying to make sense of,” I said.
The deputy eyed me suspiciously. “Something’s not right here. What kind of detectives are you exactly — supernatural ones?” His mocking tone was too evident to be ignored.
I saw Brendan purse his lips nervously — which he did whenever he was anxious — and said, “Look, Mr. Larson, we received information from Mr. Stone’s girlfriend that, immediately prior to his murder, he had met someone who called himself a sorcerer. We think this may be connected to his murder. Do you know anything about that?”
Larson leaned back in his armchair and ran his hand through his graying hair. “А sorcerer? My God, what kind of world are we living in?” he said, more to himself than to anyone in particular. “Well, why should I be surprised, anyway? Daniel and Elliott, the master, believed in higher forces and energies and all that crap. Actually, at my initiation ceremony, Elliot told me a bunch of weird stuff, claiming one can release a ‘greater power’ — which apparently was the reason behind their orgies — but I never really subscribed to that theory.”
“How long have you been a member of the Hollow Skull society, and who invited you?” Carlos asked.
“For about a year and a half, maybe.” Larson's face became thoughtful, trying to remember. “Daniel invited me to join one night when we were having a drink in his office after work. He didn’t talk a
bout spells or wizards or anything; he just mentioned hot women and sex, and asked whether I'd like to join. I said, ‘Do you even need to ask?’”
“Do you know how long he had been a member of this society?” Brendan asked.
Larson frowned, glancing at the office door. “I have no idea, but I believe it’s been at least a few years. I think it's quite possible that he and Elliott founded the society together.”
“What do you know about Elliott Rumford?” I asked.
“Oh, Elliot.” Flames of emotion flickered in Larson’s eyes. “A real Casanova — he’s always surrounded by the hottest girls.”
“Mr. Larson, we have no interest in the women surrounding Mr. Rumford, only in Mr. Rumford himself,” I interjected. I couldn’t take another minute of listening to this disgusting pig. I knew his type very well: Back at the Magica Acedemy, I’d had to deal with lots of men like Larson.
Larson flashed me a smile and said, “Don’t get mad, now. I don’t want to see a frown on that pretty face. All I know about Elliot is that he’s one hell of a tycoon — filthy rich. He’s one of the owners of Texas Oil. I don’t think he does any actual work there; he probably just goes to the Board of Directors’ meetings to vote on the important decisions. Anyway, I asked Daniel once how he’d met Elliot, and he said it had been at an occult meeting in Manhattan. I don’t remember any other details.”
So Elliott Rumford and Daniel Stone were both interested in the occult and supernatural stuff. What was it with these wealthy men — why did they suddenly want to become wizards? Didn’t they have better things to do than fool around playing Harry Potter?
“Mr. Larson, are these symbols familiar to you?” Carlos showed Larson the photo of the sliced skull on his phone.
“Yes, it was actually the logo of our club. It’s quite ugly, isn’t it?” He chuckled.
“And have you seen this symbol?” Carlos showed him the picture of the horned statuette with the inverted pentagram encircling it.
“No, I’ve never seen this before. Where did you find it?” he asked curiously, but Carlos put his mobile phone away as fast as he had taken it out.
“Mr. Larson, I’d like to ask for your cooperation. We need to speak to the master of the Hollow Skull Society — this Mr. Rumford — as quickly as possible,” Brendan said.
“I beg your pardon?” Larson didn’t see Brendan’s request coming. He rose from his comfortable leather chair and moved to the huge glass window, staring at the panoramic view of Manhattan. If I worked here, I'd probably take in this lovely view from time to time, too, either for comfort or as a distraction.
“Mr. Rumford's secretary has explained that her boss will not be able to talk to us until the end of the week, perhaps even until the weekend. And today is only Tuesday. I’d like you to talk to him as soon as possible to convince him to assist us. I don’t want to bother getting warrants or subpoenas. This case must be solved as quickly as possible. Our time is quite valuable, and I’m sure the same is true for you,” Brendan said.
Larson turned to us and I smiled at him, applying all my female charm. Call your buddy, I thought, concentrating on the thought. Larson sighed and reached for the mobile on his desk. I smiled — whenever I applied this little superpower of mine, it always worked.
The conversation between the two men was short and to the point. Larson explained that we needed to find the killer as quickly as possible, that we knew their secret society, and that if he didn’t talk to us as soon as possible, we'd get a warrant.
“Elliot said to be at his Staten Island mansion tomorrow at nine a.m.,” he said after he ended the call.
“What’s the address?” Carlos asked, his notebook and pen in hand.
“My secretary will provide that for you.” He made a motion with his hand and we realized we were being dismissed.
“If we need your help further during the investigation, we’ll be in touch,” Brendan said as we walked out.
“So everything’s falling into place,” I said as we left the UCB skyscraper. We had the address of the secret society’s master, and would question him tomorrow. I looked at my watch - it was a little after four thirty. “We have more time today. Do you want to visit the Hellfire Club?”
Carlos and Brendan turned to me in surprise.
“Oh, come on! Isn’t that where our victim probably met the sorcerer we are looking for? Where’s your adventurous spirit, guys?”
Brendan glanced at his watch. “It is a bit early — it probably won’t be very busy for a while yet — but Alex is right. It won’t hurt to go to the club.”
“I'm glad you agree.” I smiled and took a few steps, then hesitated. “Where exactly is this club, and how can we get in?”
Brendan chuckled. “I thought you’d never ask. May I use your transport charm again, darling?” He gave me a sardonic smile and suddenly I felt the urge to punch him right in his stupid face.
“Here it is.” Instead I handed him the small metal container containing the magic substance. Naomi and I called it “fairy dust,” although it wasn’t really. Brendan opened the lid and took a pinch of it.
“Envision the place we want to transport ourselves to,” I instructed him. Brendan sprinkled the dust around, and a large glittering silver cloud appeared. Magic began to pulsate in the air around us. I closed my eyes and felt the familiar tug in my chest taking me through the ether.
Chapter 5
We found ourselves in a dingy alley. In front of us, a large neon sign with the words Hellfire Club illuminated the dim space. Brownstone buildings loomed on both sides — the club was somewhere in Brooklyn. I breathed in the cool fall air and it refreshed my lungs.
“So, this is the infamous club,” I said, just before stepping into a puddle. “Shit,” I said. “This stupid club is going to ruin my favorite boots.” At five hundred dollars, the boots were one of my most expensive accessory purchases — but they were worth it. I loved boots, especially leather boots, as well as all-black leather clothes. When I was working in my bookstore instead of as an independent consultant for the Magic Council, I wore lady-like clothing. In my heart of hearts, though, I preferred the badass outfits.
“With the money the Magic Council is paying you, you can buy a dozen pairs of boots, and name-brand, at that,” Brendan said.
Yes, if we leave out the fact that our bookshop is dead in the water and we have to pay its bills first, I thought bitterly.
“Brendan mentioned that you run your own business,” Carlos said, as he headed toward the glowing sign. I must have been projecting my thoughts without realizing it. “What exactly is it?”
“An occult bookshop. We also sell love potions, spells, enchanted objects, stuff like that. And we offer tarot reading and divination, and prepare all sorts of herbal potions,” I replied, following him.
“Cool.”
I was about to reply that it was cool until competition had turned up, when a hoarse voice called, “Stop! Identify yourself.”
In front of us, at the club’s entrance, two centaur guards had appeared as if from the void and stood in our way, crossing two long, sharp spears. Their spearheads shone light purple — they were enchanted. My sense of magic warned me that if we got stabbed by one of them, the consequences would be very unpleasant.
“Um?” I asked, perplexed — the voice we’d just heard certainly hadn’t belonged to the centaurs. Peering into the dim space, I finally distinguished a small figure standing next to the centaur on the right — it looked like a leprechaun. The little man looked intently at us, his green clothes and funny hat matching with the neon sign above.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I am Peter Raibach, owner of the Hellfire Club. And who the hell are you?” When he spoke, I saw that his teeth were yellowish and sparkling.
“Do you see that?” I whispered to Carlos. “Are all his teeth really golden?”
“I hear you, young lady,” he said, annoyance clear in his voice.
Brendan intervened hu
rriedly. “Excuse me, Mr. Raibach. My partner is new to Manhattan and she is not familiar with the way we do things here. I’m Brendan Sax — a werewolf; my partner Carlos Delvalle is a tiger shifter.”
“And the mouthy woman?” The leprechaun directed his gaze at me.
“I’m an elemental mage,” I said, raising my chin slightly. I was proud of who I was.
The leprechaun’s lips stretched out in a smile. “Good. My mother was a half-mage, too. Well, ma’am, gentlemen, I am delighted to welcome you to my humble club.” He nodded to the two centaurs and they lifted their spears, letting us pass through and enter the cryptic club.
“Does he really let people into his club this easily? I thought it was supposed to be secret and strictly guarded. Doesn’t he worry that ordinary people can get in here?” I whispered to Brendan as we descended the narrow steps of the winding staircase. The werewolf pretended not to hear me, and I cursed him mentally. On both sides of the stone walls hung flaming torches burning with a blueish-green fire, invoking associations of hellfire. My sense of magic told me it was also a protection charm.
After a few moments, Brendan said, “The club is invisible to non-supernaturals. Besides, the little greedy owner, the leprechaun, has one of the best noses for magic in all of NYC.” Oh, so he had heard me after all? Maybe I’d been too quick to judge him.
Be detached, the voice in my head advised me. I had to agree with it.
“Interesting fire,” Carlos said, staring at one of the torches.
“It must be how the club got its name,” I said. “This looks exactly like hellfire.”
“Could be. The torches are actually a special protective charm: If one causes trouble here and tries to escape, they form a fiery net and block the club’s exits. It’s terrifying. I have seen it a couple of times during investigations.”
“Why did the leprechaun name it the Hellfire Club?”
“A good question,” Brendan said. “But I don’t know. Maybe because a lot of dark wizards and supernaturals gather here?”