by Megan Derr
"I would wager you are all of it, actually," Johnnie replied. "The plan was never to hand the cane over to the wealthy man you pretended to be. I would wager that as Micah's friend, you eventually would have convinced him to give it to you for safekeeping or some such. Am I right?"
"How did you know that?" the imp demanded.
"You are an imp," Johnnie replied. "Any self-respecting imp would have seen that rosebush was false. I have no magical ability whatsoever and I knew immediately something about it was off. It was also the way you encouraged him to give up the cane; that is not like any abnormal when it comes to objects of power. Abnormals have killed and died to protect far less than a plane-crossing cane. The only thing I do not know is why. Perhaps you are not a free imp, as I first thought. Perhaps it is simply money."
The imp snarled at him. "Do you know how much someone would pay for an object which can travel the planes? The chance to unravel its making is worth a fortune."
"Money, then," Johnnie said lightly. "But you would not work for months to obtain something on the chance you could sell it, so you must have been paid in advance. Who is paying you?"
"That is none of your business," the imp snapped. "Kill me, go ahead, but I promise that you will regret it."
Johnnie threw his head back and laughed, then abruptly withdrew his dagger, sheathed it, and reached into his pocket to extract one of his business cards. He threw it on the imp's chest and stood up. "Take that, and give it to your master, and inform him that if I want to kill his imps then I will do so at my leisure and do not care if he takes issue."
Frowning, the imp sat up and looked at the card—then went pale. "You said your name was Goodnight."
"I lied," Johnnie replied lightly. "You may go, on the proviso that you never trouble anyone here again."
The imp fled.
Micah stared after him, then at Johnnie. "I—I don't even know what to say. I thought he was my friend."
Johnnie's mouth twisted with bitterness, and he agreed by saying, "An open foe may prove a curse/But a pretended friend is worse." He motioned to the rosebush. "I would save your wife, now."
Though he nodded in agreement, Micah made no move to do so. "Who are you?"
"Johnnie Goodnight," Johnnie replied. "But he will trouble you no more, though I suspect the cane you hide is worth a great deal of trouble."
Micah stared at him a moment, frowning pensively. He abruptly spun around, and strode toward the house, calling over his shoulder, "Wait one moment, if you please." Curious and amused, Johnnie obeyed. Three minutes later, Micah returned, holding a long, thin wooden box. Opening it, he presented the box to Johnnie. "This is what he wanted."
Johnnie took the cane, unable to refuse the offer, utterly captivated. It was precisely as Micah had described—smooth wood, painted black. The top of it flared out slightly, a solid silver handle carved all over with ornate runes. The very tip was silver as well, and though it was clearly old, it obviously had been well cared for over the years.
It also had a strange weight and heft to it. Studying the runes thoughtfully, Johnnie then pressed down on one of the runes and gave the top of the cane a sharp twist—then drew out the hidden blade, cutting the air sharply. "A cane sword. That does better explain why they so badly wanted it. A sword that can cross the planes is infinitely more valuable than a mere cane. Exquisite. Thank you for permitting me to see it."
"Keep it."
Johnnie paused, and looked at Micah, for once wholly and genuinely surprised. "It is a family heirloom. You have known me not more than an hour. Why would you tell me to keep it? I thought that you studied its secrets."
"I know how to make such items; my family has always known," Micah said. "We lie, because the price of the making is too high. I am sick of the damned thing. It nearly cost me my wife. It suits you; no one else who ever saw it deduced its true nature, but you figured it out in a matter of seconds."
"Then I thank you," Johnnie said. "I will keep it close, and promise that never will it fall into the wrong hands."
Micah waved his words aside. "Thank you for finding my wife. Nothing I can give you can repay that."
"We will call it even, then," Johnnie replied, and smiled. "I will leave you here, to restore your wife. I bid you good day." Sketching a half-bow, he lifted his new cane in farewell, then turned and walked away, heading briskly back to the Bremen.
Removing his coat and jacket, he kept the cane and returned to the stool in which he had first sat. Without a word, the bartender brought him a vodka rocks. "Micah gave that to you."
"Yes," Johnnie said, sipping his drink. "He and his wife are fine now. The imp will not be returning." From his vest, he extracted his glasses and a pen. Taking another sip of his drink, he then began to write out all that had happened that day, recounting the ‘case' in detail.
He did not stop until he was finished and fully satisfied with the results. When he finally closed the journal and looked up, he realized the hour was late and the bar deserted save for himself and the bartender.
"You've been busy," the bartender said. "Did you want another drink?"
"Just water," Johnnie said. "You have a very nice bar."
"Thanks," the bartender said. "Name's Peyton Blue. It's taken me all night, but I finally remembered where I know your name. You're the adopted son."
Johnnie sipped the glass of water Peyton gave him. "I prefer to be called Johnnie."
Peyton nodded, and smiled. "Johnnie it is, then. Everyone who wanders into the Bremen is welcome."
"Thank you," Johnnie said. "Can you recommend a decent room for the night?" He really did not want to go back to his part of the city until tomorrow morning.
"You can have the rooms upstairs. Just threw out my last tenant, finished cleaning them up yesterday. They're good as new. Micah called while you were writing, told me all you did. For that, you can have the room free."
Johnnie started to argue, then left it alone. "Thank you. I believe I will head that way now, then."
"Go on through that door to the back room, can't miss the stairs."
Thanking him again, Johnnie followed the directions, climbing a small flight of stairs up to what proved to be a small but handsome apartment, along the same look and feel of the bar below. There was a large main room that was kitchen and living area combined, a bathroom in one corner, and two doors leading to what must be bedrooms.
He moved toward the nearest of the two rooms—
Then everything went pitch black. Johnnie's skin prickled, the scent of myrrh and musk roses filling the air, and he could not help but draw a sharp breath. "You again."
The hot-toddy voice washed over him, making him shiver despite himself. "I could say the same; I did not think to see you once, let alone twice."
"What do you hope to gain by all this foolish, melodramatic behavior?" Johnnie asked coolly. The man laughed again, and Johnnie realized suddenly that they were only a step apart. Fingers glided across his face, and he reached up to smack the hand away, furious with both of them when his hand only wound up captured.
Warm lips pressed a firm kiss to the back of his hand. "I admit I thought to see you once, and never again, and sought only to play a bit with you, steal a kiss or two. But I find myself obsessed, and in want of more kisses. I think what I hope to gain by all this foolish, melodramatic behavior is the sound of you screaming in pleasure while I fuck you."
Johnnie jerked back, ignoring the way the words affected him, not quite certain he ever wanted to face how the words affected him—but to no avail, for the stranger was stronger than he, and clearly determined, and only pulled Johnnie flush against him. Then Johnnie was being kissed, hard and sure and possessive, held fast by arms that were like bands against a hard chest, and he did not know what to do except kiss back and hope the assault ended soon.
Except it did not really feel like an assault, and kissing back was repulsive as it should have been, and as the arms loosened so hands could roam, he could not keep hims
elf from shivering. He tried to picture Elam's face, match the shape of the shadow with the form of the man he loved, but Elam's image slipped away with every new touch.
"Why do you hide in the dark?" he managed, flinching at the breathless quality of his own voice. "Are you too cowardly to face the light?"
The stranger only kissed him again, until Johnnie could scarcely breathe, and was left panting and unsteady on his feet when the kiss finally broke. "Greedy," the man murmured. "I want to be the only one who sees you."
"That does not explain why you will not let me see you," Johnnie replied. "You have something to hide."
"Only myself," the stranger said, then abruptly grabbed hold of Johnnie's coat and shoved it off his shoulders, then did the same with his jacket, until Johnnie was in a tangle of fabrics, arms pinned by the clothes and the wall against which he was pressed. His mouth was taken with ravenous force, and he could do nothing but go along with it. He should be fighting the assault, struggling to get away, but every time he thought about it, he was kissed again and all ability to think shattered.
He moaned softly, unable to bite back the sound, letting his head fall to the side as a hungry mouth attacked his throat. "Are you Eros, sneaking around the dark and hiding yourself until a moment of your choosing?" In his arms, the stranger went suddenly stiff and still. Johnnie frowned, and started to speak—but then realized he was alone in the room, threads of city light slipping through the curtains, and then the overhead light flickered back on.
What had that been about? What was going on? Damn it, he would figure out the mystery of his assailant if it was the last thing he did. It did not help at all that the man's abrupt departure had left him hard and aching, and why was he so willing to let a stranger in the dark consume him, when his every waking moment was filled with trying not to think about Elam?
Balling his hands into fists, he slowly righted his disheveled clothes and trudged into the bedroom, body still tight and hard with thwarted passion, mind in shambles, and feeling more alone and rejected than ever.
Case 003: The Bremen
Johnnie took a sip of tea as he perused his newest book. It was not answering the question preying most upon his mind, but it was teaching him other things, so it was not a complete loss. He took another sip of tea, enjoying the book, the morning sunlight spilling through the bank of windows on the eastern wall, the warm calm—the peace.
He might be getting less and less sleep, and he might be going mad between watching Elam and his fiancée and thoughts of that second encounter with his strange Eros, but mornings like this it was easy to pretend everything was fine and simply enjoy the moment.
Who was Eros, damn it? More importantly, what was he? Johnnie did not know anyone or anything that could bypass wards, and come and go so easily. It was maddening that he had so little to go on. Beyond the strange magical abilities, he knew his assailant was educated, bold to the point of insanity, magically powerful—and as much as he hated to admit it, the man could kiss.
He could do a great deal more than kiss. Johnny was more disappointed than he liked to admit, given the entire situation, that he had somehow driven the man away before he could enjoy that great deal more.
Closing his book with a snap, he dropped it on the table and finished his tea, shifting to stare out the bank of windows to the flower garden beyond. He needed to stop obsessing. He needed to stop wishing it was Elam, because it definitely was not. He needed to stop feeling as though he were betraying Elam, and his feelings for Elam, because the truth was that Elam could not care less about him.
Stifling a sigh, he poured more tea and picked his book back up. It was infuriating that he could not find an abnormal that fit the description. Sipping his tea, he resumed reading. He paused several minutes later when the sound of the door opening drew his attention. He stared in surprise. "Good morning, Father."
"John," Ontoniel greeted, and took a seat catty-corner to Johnnie. "You have been more reserved than usual lately; not to mention we scarcely see you anymore."
Closing his book again, Johnnie set it aside and took a sip of tea. "My apologies? I am attempting to stay out of the way while Ellie courts his fiancée and the wedding plans are begun. My presence is only superfluous. That aside, I have been consumed by a particularly tricky puzzle of late. Did you require something?"
"No," Ontoniel said, regarding him pensively. "I wanted only to see how you faired. You are family; you should be part of everything."
"I am certain I shall come in handy should someone misplace a ring or a glove," Johnnie replied. "Until then, I doubt I am missed overmuch."
Ontoniel frowned. "I am not convinced you are at ease. You seem troubled of late."
"Only my puzzle causes me trouble, father," Johnnie assured him, more than a little discomfited by the show of concern. It was not typical for Ontoniel to show him any such concern; he must want very badly indeed for the wedding to go well.
"What is this mystery?" Ontoniel asked.
Johnnie hesitated, but whatever his motives, his father had asked after him. It would not kill him to discuss the matter with someone else, even if he preferred not to consult others unless strictly necessary. "I am trying to determine what manner of abnormal can come and go with a thought. I mean quite literally appear and disappear in the span of a heartbeat. He can also bypass wards without effort, no matter how thorough and strong they are, and can see in the dark with daylight clarity."
Ontoniel was silent, obviously lost in thought. Finally he asked, "Have you met this abnormal, or is this one you have only heard about?"
"I have met him twice," Johnnie said. "Always in absolute dark; he seems to have some sway over that, as well.
"I see," Ontoniel said, brows lifting. "That … sounds only like a creature that does not actually exist. Even abnormals have their myths and legends. Every race has its fictional monsters to explain what cannot otherwise be explained or to romanticize the truly frightening and make it easier to bear. What you describe sounds like a legend, a being from another plane, one who can move between planes with impunity."
Which was practically impossible. Once moved across the planes, creatures tended to stay put, or remain only for a brief stay. One classic example was the dream plane: those who entered it only stayed for a brief time. But those who dwelt in the dream plane, succubi and the like, never left it. Hell was another well known example: demons left, summoned by those who would harness their power. But once out of hell, they rarely went back. Angels, too, were often pulled from their plane and given corporeal form.
Precious few were the abnormals who could move across the planes as they chose. They were called Walkers, those who could walk across the planes, and of those only one had ever actually been confirmed—Black Dogs, and very rarely did anyone encounter one of those. Otherwise, it was all myth and legend and unconfirmed sightings.
So he was being molested by something that did not exist. The thought should irritate him. He did find it frustrating, but like all real mysteries that fell across his path, it only made his blood run hot in thrilled determination. It was as heady as the kisses he could not forget no matter how hard he tried. "So he is merely clever," Johnnie said aloud. "That was my conclusion, but it still leaves me wondering what he is, that he could pretend to be something that does not exist." Perhaps he would be better served to find the true motive for the man's behavior, and then deduce from there what he was—yes, that was perfect.
"He is not merely a clever human?" Ontoniel asked. "Give that lot magic, and they can be too crafty for anyone's peace of mind."
"No, he was too powerful magically to be even a sorcerer; I could smell it on him. He had to be on a par with at least a free imp." He drummed his fingers on his book.
Ontoniel seemed to hesitate, then said, "What about a half-breed? The history of abnormals is rife with the consequences of mixing races."
"I am considering that, but his abilities should still be present somewhere and so far I have only
found abilities that come close. I suppose I should better factor in how those that are close might alter if crossed with certain other races." His head hurt just thinking about it.
Silence fell for what seemed several minutes, but could not have been more than a couple, before Ontoniel said, "More than likely, this stranger of yours is an imp or something. However…"
"However?"
"However, demons and angels are not the only ones to have forever crossed their planes and settled here. I once heard of a succubus who managed to leave the dream plane and become a normal human. The degree of veracity to the tale, I could not tell you, but in light of such an outlandish description, I suppose the possibility must be considered."
Johnnie frowned pensively at his book, then quoted, "How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" He looked up. "I will need better books. Where did you hear this tale of the succubus turned human?"