by N. P. Martin
“We’re humans. That’s just what we do.”
“Luckily you’re not like most humans, are you, my little pet?”
“So I’m your pet now?”
“Do you want to be my pet? Do you want me to tell you what to do all the time? To feed you?” She slipped her hand down my leg and gently grabbed my cock. “To pleasure you?”
“People don’t pleasure their pets, you know.”
“You obviously haven’t been around enough people,” she said, removing her hand from between my legs. “Some people marry their pets. I once stalked a man who got married to a pony. Can you believe that? The only reason I stalked him was to see what kind of man married a pony.”
“And what kind of man was he?”
“Sad and ordinary, unfortunately. I left him corrupted just to shake up his mundane little life. I believe he ended up killing his wife.”
“You mean the pony?”
“I mean his wife. He married the pony in secret…which he also ended up eating.”
“He ate the pony?”
“The corruption I left him with turned him toward Satanism. I watched him sacrifice the pony to Satan and then eat it.”
I shook my head. “Gross. I’m sure you were proud.”
“Proud? I have no sense of that. My spirit thrives on manipulation, as you well know.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m not on the receiving end of your manipulations.”
“I could never manipulate you. You are my special case.”
I nodded. “Because I’m so deserving of you.”
“Exactly.”
“Even though I’m not.”
“See,” she said. “That’s why I chose you, Damion. You have no sense of entitlement. Every human I’ve ever met has thought themselves entitled to something, but not you. I still wonder why that is.”
Shrugging slightly, I shook my head as I stared at the TV. “Maybe it’s because I grew up surrounded by entitled people. I was the same once.”
“I couldn’t ever imagine you like that. A spoiled little rich kid, sucking like crazy on that big silver spoon.”
“All I did was choke on it. I was glad to be rid of it.”
“I’m glad you got rid of it, otherwise, you may have ended up as one of my victims, and you wouldn’t have liked that, not after a while anyway.”
I put my hand on her thigh and squeezed. “I’m just glad you’re here, Zee, you know that. Without you, I would’ve died of an overdose in a stinking alley long ago.”
Smiling, Zee kissed me on the cheek before cuddling into me. Her capacity for loving always surprised me, especially given the fact that she was a demon, and was essentially bred in Hell to be a corruptor of human minds and souls. For everyone else, she held an unwavering level of disdain. But not for me. Even sitting there on the sofa with her, seven years down the line, I still couldn’t fathom why she was the way she was with me. I guess even demons needed somebody to love.
“What’s your plans for today?” I asked her.
“I’m not sure yet. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I was hoping you could try to track down the incubus spawn. Doesn’t seem right to let it run around out there so it can end up killing people.”
Zee sighed and folded her arms across her chest, pouting slightly. “Well, I was going to close the book on my CEO friend today, but I suppose if you want me to track down a monstrous human-demon hybrid that’s only doing what it was made to do…”
“I do, and I can’t believe you have sympathy for that little bastard. It killed the cat! I liked the cat!”
“I don’t have sympathy for anyone except you,” she said. “And you didn’t need that cat anyway, smelly thing.”
“It wasn’t smelly.”
“Not to your nose. To my nose it smelled like a walking dead thing.”
“So you’re going after the spawn then?”
She nodded. “I suppose so. What would you like me to do with it if I find it?”
“Kill it, of course.”
“You want me to kill a defenseless baby?”
“It’s not a baby, and it’s not defenseless either. Just ask the damn cat. Oh wait, you can’t, because the defenseless baby tore it in half with its teeth.”
“Ok, fine,” Zee said, throwing her arms in the air dramatically. “I’ll kill the damn thing if and when I find it.”
“You’re the best tracker I know. You’ll find it.”
“Speaking of which, I think you should consider relaunching your YouTube channel.”
“What for? It’s a waste of time.”
“You’ll reach more people. No one reads online anymore. Videos are were it’s at now.”
“Maybe so, but the fact is, no one believes what they see on YouTube. People think it’s all made up, especially these days.”
“I think we’d make a good duo, you and I,” she said. “With my looks and charm, and your—”
“Good looks and charm?”
“Knowledge of the occult, I was going to say.”
“Don’t flatter me too much, will you?”
Zee smiled. “You can’t help being who you are, baby, no more than I can.”
“Exactly, which is why I’m not doing videos again. Last time, it was all horror obsessed kids who spend there days watching FNAF videos. Not to mention the militant Christians. Don’t even get me started on them.”
“So that’s a no, then?”
“It’s a no.”
Zee sighed. “Fine. So what are you going to do while I’m out chasing down the killer baby?”
“I might have a lead on the incubus. I’m going to check it out.”
“What lead?”
“A contacts website called Intimate Connections. I think that’s where Angela Smith met her killer.”
“Angela Smith? That’s the dead woman’s name?”
“Yes.”
“What a terrible name. I’m glad the stripper I possessed had a great name—Zelda Scarrow. It’s so me.”
I shook my head at her. “I’m sure you would’ve changed it if it didn’t suit your tastes.”
“Probably. I used that website before, by the way.”
“Intimate Connections?”
“Yes. In the beginning, when I arrived in this crazy world. It was the quickest way to find victims, but there was no sport in it. I prefer to go out hunting now.”
“Well, I don’t think the incubus was as picky as you are, thankfully.”
“That’s because it only wants to spread its seed. That’s all it was created to do.”
“Unlike you, who are a more refined breed of soul-sucker.” When I saw her face drop, I quickly added, “I meant that in the best possible way…obviously.”
Zee nodded to herself and then stood up. “It’s that kind of hurtful remark that makes me question my commitment to you, Damion.”
“Zee, I didn’t mean—”
“I’m going to get dressed for the hunt,” she said. “While I’m gone, you can think about how you are going to make up for that callous remark.”
A sigh left me as she walked away into the bedroom.
Nice going…
7
Zee was still pouting as she left the apartment, but she at least said she would call me if she found the incubus spawn, which was something, I suppose. Many a time she had stormed out of the apartment over some stupid remark that I had made, sometimes not coming back for days. So when she said she would call me, I knew I hadn’t upset her too much. Still, I felt bad. Zee was devoted to me in every way, a fact I took for granted sometimes, and even denigrated with my unthinking remarks. Maybe I would take her out later, buy her dinner. She liked that. Just the two of us.
In the meantime, I had work to do, starting with charging up whatever sigil cards I would need for the day. Going into my office, I switched on the light and rummaged in a drawer until I found a pack of blank white cards. The cards were similar to smaller-sized Tarot cards, rounded at the edges. Taking the ca
rds from the box, I spread some out on my cluttered desk and then grabbed a black Sharpie, pausing for a second as I considered what magic I might need for the day. I drew the sigil for a knockout spell first, because you never know when you might have to take someone out. Due to the nature of my job, I got physically threatened a lot, and often it was easier just to knock an aggressor out rather than fight them. Taking the Sharpie, I quickly drew the sigil for the spell, which I knew by heart I had drawn it so many times. Next, I drew the sigil for a psychometry spell, which would allow me to get a kind of psychic snapshot from material objects. Eidetic memory was next, handy for retaining information after only a quick glance at a document or photograph. Finally, I drew a healing sigil, which although didn’t have miraculous effects or anything, it was better than a Bandaid.
It was Zee who turned me on to sigil magic, which she did shortly after I met her by introducing me to a wizard, who, with some persuasion from Zee, agreed to teach me what I needed to know. Zee said if I was going to be investigating the Occult Underground, then I would need protection and ways to get around the inevitable barriers that impeded whatever story I was chasing. I was reluctant at first because thanks to my mother’s death, I knew how dangerous magic could be. But the wizard, whose name was August Creed, told me magic was only dangerous if you tried to overstretch yourself and do things that were beyond your capabilities. Under Zee’s watchful eye, Creed—an odd, but decent guy, often funny in his own way, and just a tad scary—taught me the ways of sigil magic. Compared to some other forms of magic, such as pure sorcery, which required years of study and sacrifice, sigil magic was relatively easy as long as you got the sigils right and knew how to charge them up properly, and how to activate them afterward. There was a lot you could do with sigil magic, I soon discovered, and simple spells like opening a locked door didn’t take too long to learn or charge up. Bigger spells, such as creating pure energy from nothing, for instance, or summoning a nearby gargoyle for help, say, took a lot more energy to charge.
I didn’t rely on magic all that much, but I couldn’t deny that it came in handy sometimes, and that it even saved my life on a few occasions. For the couple hours a day I spent creating and charging the sigil cards, it was worth it to know I had them on me if I needed them. Assuming, of course, that I had the foresight to carry the right cards with me.
Once I had drawn the sigils on the cards, I laid the cards out on the floor and prepared to charge them up with energy. Simply meditating on the cards for a few hours would do the trick, which is how most hedge magicians like myself did it. But there are other ways of charging the cards too. Sex works pretty well, especially when that sex is with a succubus like Zee. The other method I used was martial arts. Specifically, kata. From the age of seven right up into my late teens, I studied martial arts, able to train with the top instructors privately thanks to my family’s wealth and connections. I started off with Goju Ryu, an Okinawan martial art that toughened my body no end, before moving on to Japanese Jujitsu, and then finally Kali and Escrima, both Filipino martial arts that involved a lot of stick and knife fighting, as well as boxing. I quit martial arts when I started college, but I still retained most of what I learned.
To charge the sigils, I did a few minutes of standing meditation to calm my mind and body before launching into a Goju Ryu kata that I repeated several times, doing each movement slowly and deliberately, using my body to create energy that I then channeled, via my mind, into the sigil cards that lay on the floor.
Next, I grabbed my Escrima sticks and started running through various movements with them, falling into a kind of trance as I focused only on the sigils I had drawn, almost seeing the energy I was creating get channeled into the cards.
When I was done with the Escrima sticks—my body sheathed in sweat by this stage—I put them aside and kneeled in front of the sigil cards, closing my eyes as I fell into a calm meditation, focusing my mind on the cards once more as I pictured each sigil in detail, focusing on it until every line glowed with energy. This I did until every sigil was fully charged.
With the sigil cards now ready to use, I gathered them up and stacked them on my desk before going to take a shower and get changed into something a bit more professional. In the bedroom, I put on a shirt and tie with black jeans, along with a pair of leather boots. In my office, I grabbed my spare gun and holster, another Glock 19. It was the gun I had learned to shoot with years ago, so I tended just to stick with it. It was also small and compact, which I liked. In this city, in these dangerous times, it would’ve been foolish of me not to have been armed. Not that I’d ever shot anyone—yet—but carrying a gun had saved me in a few sticky situations, so I rarely went out without it. I also liked to keep a double-edged commando knife on me, strapped to my right ankle. I had a few such knives, all of which I had etched sigils into for a little added magic power.
Finally, I put on a dark overcoat, grabbed my phone and keys, put the sigil cards into my coat pocket, and then headed out the door.
Outside, it was a cold and wet January day, and I stuck my hands into my coat pockets as the wind and rain assaulted me. On the street, a number of police cars were parked, as well as two CSU vans. Just up the street, I spotted a dark blue sedan that belonged to Detective Murtagh, which I walked up to and opened the back door before climbing inside. “What’s up guys?” I said to Murtagh and his partner, William Huxley, who were sitting up front drinking coffee, Murtagh munching on a donut.
“Oh, it’s you,” Huxley said in that soft-spoken, almost emotionless way of his as he turned his head to look at me. “Are you lost?”
Huxley was a man small in stature but big on brains. With his slightly unkempt, sweptback hair and large rounded spectacles, he looked more like a scientist than a cop. Despite coming from a family of cops, Huxley excelled in many other diverse things such as painting, chemistry, metallurgy, mathematics, and even invention, earning him the nickname Da Vinci by his fellow cops, which was soon shortened to Vinci. “I’m right where I need to be as always, Vinci,” I said with a smile.
“Yeah,” Murtagh said as he munched on his donut. “Right up our asses as usual.”
“Thanks for that unpleasant image,” I said to him. “How’s things going?”
“The forensic guys are in the building now,” Murtagh said.
“They find anything?” I asked, knowing it was probably too soon to be asking.
“Blood,” Huxley said. “Lots of blood.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You decide how you’re gonna write this up yet?”
“I could just say that you did it,” Murtagh said. “You’re all over the scene, anyway. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you bringing me this shit anymore.”
“Funny,” I said. “It’s your job, Murtagh. Somebody has to do it.”
“My partner mentioned an escaped monster,” Huxley said. “A baby?”
“Probably not a baby by this stage,” I said. “It’s probably grown a bit. I sent Zee after it. Hopefully she’ll catch up with it.”
“Zee,” Huxley said with an almost wistful smile. “How is she anyway?”
Murtagh looked at his partner and shook his head. “Get over it, Vinci. She kissed you once.”
“Yes, and what a kiss it was.”
“Aren’t you married, Vinci?” I said.
“Fourteen years,” Huxley said. “I love my wife. But I will never forget that kiss, those lips. So indescribably sensuous.”
“Zee is a succubus,” I said. “She has that effect on everybody.”
“Still,” Huxley said.
“Still what?”
“Just…still.”
I shook my head. “This is getting weird now. I’m gonna leave you guys to it. Let me know if you turn anything up, will you?”
“Yeah,” Murtagh said after lighting a cigarette. “Cuz we work for you, right?”
I smiled as I opened the door. “Later guys.”
Outside, I walked back down the street a ways to where my
own car was parked, a metallic blue 1990 Chevrolet Corvette ZR-1, which was about the only thing close to a luxurious item that I owned. Coming from money, I grew up driving expensive cars, and I always liked the Corvettes. So a few years ago, I upgraded the battered Ford I was driving, and I bought myself the sweet, sweet ride I was about to get into, which was paid for by fencing an expensive necklace that Zee had swiped from one of her victims. Sure, it went against my principle of spending only what I earned myself, but it was a onetime thing, and I haven’t done it again since. Believe me, my life would be a lot easier if I allowed Zee to keep me, but I was stubborn. Besides, I usually earned enough myself from the website via advertising, and also from the royalties of a few books I had published on Amazon, one of which—detailing the extent of the Occult Underground—was a consistent bestseller. Sleepers may not have wanted to know about the monsters at their door, but those same Sleepers were happy enough to read about said monsters on their Kindles. Lucky for me.
As I opened the door to the car, about to climb inside, I heard a voice call my name. After looking behind me and seeing who it was, I tutted and shook my head before ignoring the person and getting inside the car. As expected, a few seconds later, the front passenger door opened and the person who had called my name awkwardly squeezed his muscular frame inside the car. “I can’t believe you made me squeeze into this toy car of yours,” the man said in an Australian accent. His name was Mac McCallister, and he worked for my father as his head of security stroke fixer.
“It amuses me to see you uncomfortable,” I said, wondering what he was doing here, though I had a fair idea.
“Dick,” he said.
I smiled. “Good to see you, Mac. It’s been a while. You’ve grown a beard since I last saw you. It suits you.”
“Thanks,” he said, looking at me with his brown wolfish eyes, looking younger than the man in his fifties that he was. “Your father doesn’t like it. Thinks it makes me look scruffy and unprofessional.”
I shook my head as I pictured my father’s face, his judging eyes. “He always has an opinion, doesn’t he?”