by N. P. Martin
When Zee next emerged from the kitchen, she was holding a small arm in her hands as she nibbled on it like a piece of chicken. “Are you sure I can’t fix you some chicken?” she said as bloody juices ran down her delicate chin. “I did a good job of cooking it.”
“I’m sure you did,” I said, hardly looking at her. “I’ll stick with the whiskey for tonight, though.”
“Okay.”
A moment or two later, I heard her say, “Damion?”
“What?”
“Look at me.”
Sighing, I shook my head slightly and turned around to look at her, and as I did, I saw she had exchanged the incubus spawn’s arm for its small head, which she held in her hand like a large orange. With a look of wicked delight in her eyes, she bit into the roasted cheek flesh of the incubus spawn’s head. Slowly. Very, very slowly. Then she started chewing just as slowly, her dark, intense eyes on me all the time. And I’m almost ashamed to say, I was turned on by her, by what she was doing.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Later, after Zee had disposed of the rest of her “meal” in the alley behind the building, certain it would all be gone by morning thanks to the rats, and after me spraying about three cans of air freshener around the apartment, which still didn’t mask the burned meat smell, we settled down in the living room to watch The Exorcist for the umpteenth time. I was half drunk by that stage, and I just sat staring at the screen, hardly taking in the movie as Zee predictably laughed her ass off at Linda Blair’s demon-possessed antics and the priests’ failed attempts to exorcise the demon from her. After a while, Zee saw I wasn’t really into the movie, and asked me what was wrong. “Are you still mad about dinner?”
“No,” I said, though the lingering smell of cooked human flesh made it hard to forget.
“Then what?” she asked, moving her head close to me.
“I fucked up tonight,” I told her, before explaining what had happened at Phillips’ office. “I may have blown the whole story, not to mention Murtagh’s case.”
“Well,” Zee said, raising her head to look at me. “You said you got the incubus’ address, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s go there now and I will consume his soul.” On those last three words, Zee’s eyes glowed a deep orange, and her dark hair instantly became a fiery red. Twisting black horns also protruded from her skull.
Despite having seen Zee transform into her full demon self many times over the years, looking into those eyes never failed to unnerve me, for looking into them was like looking into the fires of Hell itself, even though Zee had informed me enough times that there was very little fire in Hell, except in the Outer Reaches, apparently. Still, the feeling had embedded itself into my subconscious. Seeing those eyes during sex with Zee was still unnerving, but at those times, looking into the fires of Hell also added to my excitement. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I told her. “Besides, can’t the incubus consume your soul just as easily?”
“He could, but that would never happen.”
“Why not?”
A sinister smile crept across Zee’s face before she slowly opened her mouth, her jaws extending way beyond any human capability until all I saw was a dark chasm filled with needle-sharp teeth. Slowly, she moved her head to within two inches of mine before closing her mouth. “Because nothing eats me. I do the eating.”
After swallowing slowly, I said, “You still scare the hell out of me, Zee.”
With an almost casual flick of her head, Zee made her demon visage disappear, morphing back into her human form, which could be just as scary sometimes. With those deep-set dark eyes and hungry mouth, Zee couldn’t have chosen a better host body in which to house her demon spirit. The face and lithe body reflected her true self perfectly. Although don’t think because I used the word host that the woman whose body Zee inhabited had any choice in the matter. She didn’t. And because Zee, being a demon, had taken the woman’s body, the woman’s soul was still trapped in there. Not that such a thing ever bothered Zee. “Good,” she said. “I’d be worried if I didn’t. Besides—” Her hand went to my crotch and squeezed. “It still turns you on when you see my demon form, doesn’t it?”
I nodded as I stared into her eyes, seeing depths in them that even after so many years, I still couldn’t fathom. “Yes.”
Zee smiled as she got up off the sofa and stood before me, taking off all her clothes and letting them fall to the floor as I watched, captivated. A second later, she morphed into her demon form again, fully this time. On her red-skinned naked body, glowing orange tattoos wrapped around her like fiery snakes, shifting around her as if they were alive. From her back, crimson leathery wings emerged, and a long tail too, ending in a barbed point. Her feet were no longer feet, but cloven hooves.
As I sat gazing up at her, I should’ve been terrified, and a part of me was. But my desire for her outweighed any terror I felt, and when she spoke, her words were like honey, making it so I could think of nothing else but her.
And as she kneeled between my legs, the world around me faded as a familiar dome of warm pleasure encapsulated us both.
12
The following evening, I got a call from Detective Murtagh. I was on my way to meet my father at the restaurant, reluctantly driving over the bridge to Bedford, when Murtagh called, sounding even more pissed off than usual.
“I’m just letting you know we got a warrant to search Martin Phillips’ work computer,” he said. “We hit his office today and found nothing.”
“Nothing?” I said, not really surprised. Phillips would’ve seen what I was looking at the previous night, and wouldn’t have taken the chance to keep the files on his computer. He would’ve moved them elsewhere immediately, to somewhere more secure. “What about the website? I sent you the address along with Marino’s.”
“Nada. Taken down.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck. I told you we’d find nothing. You spooked the guy, and now he knows we’re onto him.”
Yeah, but he still doesn’t know it was me who was at his office last night.
“What about Marino? Did you find him?”
“Vinci and I went to his address this morning,” Murtagh said.
“And? Did you arrest him?”
“No. As soon as I kicked his door in, he jumped out the fucking third-story window and vanished.”
“Shit.”
“So basically, the whole case is a fucking bust. Thanks to you, Deadson.”
“Hey, I didn’t lose Marino. You did.”
“Fuck you, Deadson. You overstepped when you went to Phillips’ office like that. We could’ve had the guy if you hadn’t spooked him.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, pissed off myself now. “And how do you figure that? You didn’t even know about Phillips until I told you.”
“We would’ve questioned him because of the website link in the murder of Angela Smith,” he said.
“Yeah, and he would’ve told you to fuck off, or his lawyers would have. You’d still be in the dark.”
Murtagh went silent for a moment, then said, “It’s been a long day, Deadson. I’m going home to get drunk. Don’t call me again.”
“You called me!” I shouted, but he had already hung up. “Asshole!”
Fuming, I gripped the steering wheel and pressed harder on the gas pedal as I sped along the road toward Bedford, angry at Murtagh for being such a dick, but mostly I was angry at myself for fucking up with Phillips. At the very least, I should’ve closed all the files I was looking at on his computer, and then maybe he wouldn’t have known I was on to him. But then again, Phillips seemed the paranoid type, so he probably would’ve taken precautionary measures anyway. Why else would someone break into his office if not to find dirt on him? That’s what he probably would’ve thought.
No matter. Phillips hadn’t gotten away with anything yet. Not only would I find Marino—with Zee’s help—but I would also find a way to sink Phillips
as well.
Journalism 101: A good reporter finds the news. He doesn’t just wait for it to happen.
The restaurant I was supposed to meet my father at was called Catch 33, and it was located just outside the Financial District, near to where my father’s company building was. My father bought the restaurant years ago, like he bought everything else that took his fancy, even people. Though he never succeeded in buying me, and never would.
My father was already waiting for me at a two-seater table in the shadowy, dimly lit interior of the restaurant. As soon as I went through the door, a maître de met me and offered to take my coat before escorting me to the table my father was sitting at. I said nothing as I sat down. My father never spoke either as he sipped on his martini. A glass of single malt was already waiting for me at the table. When the maître de left, I sat awkwardly for a moment as I stared around the empty restaurant. “Where’s Mac?” I asked, surprised he wasn’t standing around somewhere.
“I gave him the night off,” my father said. “It’s a full moon.” He smiled. “Nature calls.”
Picking up my drink, I took a sip, knowing how expensive the whiskey was. It was a delight on the palate, but I kept my face blank as I swallowed, wishing Mac was here, as I hated being alone with my father.
“So,” he said, as if this was just another business meeting for him. “How have you been?”
I took another sip of the whiskey before staring at my father. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t changed a bit since I last saw him over a year ago. Like most magicians, he used magic to keep himself looking younger than he was. At sixty-two years old, he looked more like a man in his early fifties, an inch taller than me with swept back sandy-colored hair that, despite his youthfulness, had still receded a fair bit. As always, he wore a dark Saville Row three-piece suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. As he looked at me, his clear blue eyes gave nothing away, no clue as to how he was feeling or what was going on inside his head. As usual, I realized I would probably have to wait for him to explain himself in his own time. “Do you really care?” I asked him.
He hardly blinked. “Of course I care. You’re my son.”
Smiling without warmth, I shook my head a little and stared out at the empty room again, regretting, as I knew I would, even turning up. “Just tell me what you want. I’m sure we both have work to be getting on with. I know I do.”
“Work?” he said, his tone making it clear that he didn’t class what I did for a living as work.
“Yes,” I said, staring at him. “Work.”
“You know, Damion, back when you told me you were going into journalism instead of law as we’d agreed—”
“We didn’t agree anything. That was you telling me what to do. I never wanted to go into law.”
“In any case, when you told me you were going into journalism instead, I grudgingly accepted it because you were going to be working with a reputable newspaper.”
“One that you owned.”
“Yes. But then you left the newspaper and fell into…” He trailed off as he shook his head slightly.
“You can say it. I was a junky.”
“Yes, you were, and I helped you get cleaned up, only so you could go to work for that disgusting tabloid rag, the Midnight Inquirer. And now—”
“Now what?”
“Now you’ve started your own version of it online.”
“It’s hardly the same. The Inquirer wasn’t much interested in the truth.”
“Yes, you’re all about the truth, aren’t you, Damion? That little piece you published about me last year caused a lot of upset.”
“For your business cronies, you mean?”
“Yes, Damion. You caused a mess, and as usual, I was left to clean it up.”
I threw him a hard look. “Don’t even go there. You’ve never done shit for me. Everything you do is to protect yourself and your precious reputation. Even when you paid for my rehab, it was just so I wouldn’t cause you any further embarrassment.”
My father shook his head and sighed like I didn’t get it. “You of all people should understand that a man’s reputation is everything. And for the record, Damion, I paid for your rehab because I didn’t want my only son to kill himself by overdosing on heroin. All I’ve ever done is try to help you, Damion, but you seem so fixated on this idea that I’m the bad guy, and that I’m responsible for all your woes since—” He stopped and sighed.
“Go on. You can say it.”
“Since your mother died,” he finished.
“Since you let her die, you mean.”
My father drained his glass and signaled the maître de to bring him another. “When are you going to accept the truth, Damion? Your mother did what she did to save us all. She did it to save you and your sister, to ensure you both still had a future.”
“And look how that worked out.”
“What happened to your sister was…” He trailed off for a second and then shook his head. “There’s not a day goes by when I don’t think of her. But that still doesn’t change the fact that your mother died to ensure you both had a future.”
“To ensure you still had a future, you mean,” I said, clenching my jaw as I waited for the maître de to walk away. When he did, I added, “I know you. You would’ve talked her into it, told her there was no choice, that she had to kill herself to save her family, when really, she was just saving you and your precious fucking company.”
“You know, for a journalist, Damion, you really don’t have much of a grasp on the truth,” he said.
“The truth is whatever you say it is, Father. It always has been.”
“You think you know what happened, Damion, but you don’t. Very dark forces were coming after me, and by extension, you and your sister as well. When your mother did what she did, the dark forces were on our doorstep. They would’ve killed us all if your mother hadn’t been brave enough to sacrifice herself.” He leaned across the table. “That’s who your mother was, Damion. She always put her family first.”
“Unlike you,” I said, aware that we were now falling into the same pattern we always did when we had these meetings. “Why didn’t you sacrifice yourself instead, hmm?”
“I would have, but your mother insisted—”
“Then you should’ve insisted harder! It was your fault the wolves were at the door in the first place!”
“I know.”
“So why didn’t you do the ritual instead then?”
“Because—”
“Because what?”
“Because your mother was dying anyway,” he said quietly, looking away for a second.
I reeled back in my chair and stared at him in shock. “What?”
My father sighed. “She had an incurable brain disease that she kept secret from everyone. It wasn’t even on her medical records.”
“Then how—” I couldn’t even finish the sentence as I was still reeling from shock.
“She told me just before the ritual. Later, I confirmed with Dr. White. He told me she had been diagnosed six months before everything happened.”
I shook my head at him. “Why the hell haven’t you mentioned this before? You didn’t think it was pertinent information?”
“I didn’t think it relevant.”
“You didn’t think it relevant? Jesus Christ. Like you didn’t think it relevant to tell me or Ava the real circumstances of our mother’s death?” I leaned forward slightly. “You told us she killed herself! I had to find out the truth for myself years later!”
“You were young, Damion, you wouldn’t have understood—”
“So you just lied to us for years?”
“Yes. I did what I thought was necessary, just as I’ve always done.”
“No, you kept the truth from us because you knew we would hate you for it, hate you for letting her die like that, even if she was sick.”
My father shook his head and looked away for a moment. “I didn’t ask you here so we could have the same old argument, Dam
ion. The past is the past, and you need to move on from it.”
“Just like that,” I said bitterly.
“You can’t change anything that happened.”
“And what about Ava? Are you even still looking for her?”
“Of course,” he said, looking straight at me.
“I wish I could believe that.”
“Believe what you want, Damion,” he said dismissively. “You always do.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Look, son, I asked you here tonight so we could try to patch things up between us, and in that spirit of reconciliation, I’d like to offer you an opportunity to come work with me.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I shook my head. “Really? And what would you expect me to do for you?”
“Be my right hand, as you always should have been.”
“So shadow you as you teach me how to play power games and fuck people over?”
Anger flashed across my father’s face, though he contained it. “What is it you think I do, Damion?”
“You’re head of a huge financial services corporation with your finger in god knows how many other pies,” I said. “You are also a member of at least one cabal that I know of, and no doubt, a fair few other secret societies. None of which I have any interest in unless they are part of the Illuminati Conspiracy, which I’m sure you have a hand in.”
“The Illuminati, Damion? You don’t honestly believe in that hokum, do you?”
“Somebody runs things behind the scenes. That’s just what I call them for now.”
“And you think you can oust these people? Then what?”
“Then the whole conspiracy falls apart once people learn the truth.”
My father puffed his cheeks out and shook his head. “Your naivety is astounding.”
“Why? Because you believe all the secrecy is necessary? That people can’t handle the truth?”
“That’s exactly what I believe, because it’s true. You give the masses too much credit. The world is how it is for a reason. The people need to be ruled.”