by Debra Dunbar
“Then why haven’t you killed me? Why don’t you just kill me right now?”
The angel’s mouth was pressed into a grim line. Without a reply, he turned around and left — walked right out of the house. I heard the front door close behind him. I felt as empty as the demon on the floor beside me, and so alone.
~13~
Hey, baby. How’s it going?”
I was sitting on the hood of the rental car, eating a takeout falafel and talking to Wyatt. When Gregory hadn’t returned to the house on Evanston, I locked up and headed out. I wasn’t sure what to do with Baphomet’s corpse, and I wasn’t about to just hang out there, waiting for the angel to show up. If he needed me, he’d contact me.
“Not sure when we’re heading back. Gregory’s MIA at the moment, but I’m assuming we’ll take the red eye back to Baltimore.”
“Did you find anything out from the corpse?”
Wyatt was definitely intrigued. Good thing, since I’d probably need his special skills in the future. We were at a dead–end now, but Wyatt could find a needle in a haystack if only I could tell him what needle I was looking for.
“Not much. He was killed the same way. There were traces of restraints around his neck and all four limbs.”
“Well, that’s good.” Wyatt’s voice was encouraging. “That confirms your suspicions.”
I snorted. “What suspicions? I’m just as flummoxed as before. Someone used angel or elven/sorcerer magic to tie this demon up then drain him dry. No idea who, or what, or why.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Now I felt guilty. I’d been having resentful thoughts about Wyatt and his unwillingness to get involved in my activities, and here he was offering to help. Maybe the problem in our relationship wasn’t him; maybe it was me.
“I don’t know how you can.” I sighed and sat my half–eaten falafel on the hood of the car, suddenly not hungry. “I knew him, Wyatt. He was an old friend. We hadn’t been in touch lately, and we’d sort of grown apart, but I hardly expected to arrive here and find him dead on a bedroom floor.”
“Sam, I’m so sorry.” Wyatt’s voice was sympathetic. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“A couple of years ago.” I thought back, remembering all the times we’d connected over the decades. Baphomet didn’t like to stay as long as I did, but he tended to keep his real estate holdings and businesses in trust, so he could return to them later. I’d flown out two years ago to discuss a scheme to sell stolen body parts. I really hadn’t wanted to get involved in black market kidneys and passed on the project. He’d left a message for me late last year about some other project, but I’d never called him back.
“Maybe there is something you can do for me,” I said as the thought formed in my mind. “Baphomet was using the same human form he had been two years ago. Can you search property records, and anything else you can find for Anton Breskine? And also 3256 Edmonston in Freemont? Does he own that house?”
“Anton Breskine. I’ve got a Washington State driver’s license — African American male, five–foot–eleven, one–ninety, thirty–five years old?”
“That’s him.” Baphomet had been using that form for the past sixty years. He’d had to forge a birth certificate every decade or so to keep himself within that magic mid–thirties window. I could modify my human forms to a variety of ages, but most demons, Baphomet included, could only recreate the physical being at the same age they’d Owned them.
“I’ll send you the address from his license. It’s a place on Eastlake.”
Eastlake? I remembered him buying a place there about five years back. He’d been really thrilled with the purchase, although he’d said some of the neighbors were a bit weird. I’d flown out to see it, because weird to Baphomet would have been really extreme. The house had been beautiful, the neighbors disappointingly normal.
“The house on Edmonston is owned by a Paul Yong.”
I didn’t recognize that name, but Baphomet may have Owned other humans since I’d seen him last. The neighbors had told the angels that someone else had lived there, but that didn’t mean Baphomet wasn’t connected somehow. He may have been renting it out to a human or another demon.
“Anything else?”
“Looks like Anton Breskine owns the house on his license and has for the last five years. Nothing else in Washington. Do you want me to check another state?”
“California,” I said on impulse. “Specifically in the LA area.”
“Hmmm, a couple of businesses, one with considerable unpaid tax debt.”
Yeah, that would be Baphomet. I wondered about the lack of businesses in Washington. Baphomet was pretty predictable in his interests and liked to live a lavish lifestyle. How was he funding it all with only those few dried–up places in LA?
“Thanks,” I told him. I really meant it too. “How are the girls? Are you ready to run screaming yet?”
He sighed. “Nyalla is holed up in your house reading magazines and working on her language software. She meets us for dinner and movies but seems to want to be on her own a lot.”
“And how’s Amber?”
“She’s …Amber. I don’t know, Sam. Same as always. Charming, understanding, caring. She pops over and we spend hours together, but when she leaves, I realize I don’t know anything about her life or how she really feels. She talks about her fall class schedule, various friends, a part–time job as if everything is just normal and perfect. Every time I try to dig and find out how she’s coping with all this, she redirects me.”
Amber was very good at redirecting. “I’ll call her.”
The half–elf actually called me as I drove to the address on Eastlake. As Wyatt said, she rambled on about activities in a superficial way while I waited. Amber never called me unless she needed something that only I could give her.
“Sam, I think I need to get laid.”
I pulled over to the side of the road, because I was on the verge of crashing the rental car.
“Well, nineteen–year–old human girls generally do seem to enjoy regular sexual intercourse,” I told her, feeling flustered at the awkward conversation. I was a demon; this shouldn’t bother me, but somehow having a sex–ed type discussion with Amber turned me into a blushing prude.
“Yeah, but I stopped when, you know, when I found out I wasn’t human. What if birth control doesn’t work on half–elf freaks?”
“Your body is human,” I assured her. She wasn’t fully in control of her demon abilities. As her powers began to mature, she’d be able to change her physical make–up, including the effects that drugs, alcohol, and poisons had on her physical form. That was probably a long, long way off though.
“Okay, but what if my demon side goes crazy and I kill my partner?”
That was always a possibility, although succubi and incubi were not anywhere near as violent as other demons. They tended toward pleasure, not pain. Leethu could happily dole out anything her partner desired, but she’d never been willing to participate in anything non–consensual.
“You don’t kill Wyatt when you have sex with him. What sort of things do you do? How do you keep your violent urges in check? Does he let you tie him up and stuff? Or maybe he ties you up, so you can’t hurt him?”
I made a choked noise and held the phone away from my ear, staring at it in horror. I was not going to discuss Wyatt’s and my sex life with his sister!
“Ummm, maybe abstinence is a good course of action for you,” I finally replied.
The irony of my recommending abstinence was not lost on me. I’d once taken a whole stack of church youth group pamphlets promoting teen celibacy and altered them to include graphic drawings and cheerful commands to “Go Forth And Fuck!”.
“I’m trying, but I don’t feel well. I feel brittle, like I’m on the verge of snapping. And I’m tired, like I’m getting a cold. I never get colds.”
“Vitamin C,” I urged. “And maybe a nap.”
“I tried exercise,” she co
ntinued, ignoring my suggestions. “But at the gym yesterday, there was this class instructor and I could hardly control myself. What made it worse was that he was clearly interested, eager even, to get it on in the locker room.”
“Wait. Raoul? That zumba instructor?” I’d been trying to get in that guy’s pants for the past year. He was a Latin god of a man. Every woman at the gym lusted after him. Sadly, in spite of his flirting, he was always resolutely professional.
“Yes. He gave me his number and somehow managed to find mine through the membership database. He’s called me three times begging to see me.”
Was he stalking her? A flash of anger sparked through me. No one fucked with my little family and lived to tell the tale. Although there wasn’t much I could do right now from Seattle.
“Call the police.” I urged. “Report him to the gym.”
“I’d rather throw him in the back seat of my car and ride him until he collapses from exhaustion. I’m just afraid he’ll wind up dead, with or without a smile on his face.”
Oh. My. Not a visual I thought I’d get from Wyatt’s little sister. Was this normal human crazy hormone stuff, or something else?
“Can you restrain yourself?” I needed to get a hold of Leethu and see what advice the succubus could possibly give her randy daughter. The sun was low on the horizon, and I’d hoped to check out this potential house of Baphomet’s before Gregory and I headed back to the east coast. I didn’t have a portable mirror to reach my household right now, anyway. Hopefully Amber could take a bunch of cold showers and keep from fucking anyone to death until I got back to Maryland and could contact Leethu.
“Yeah, I guess I can just use a vibrator, or that…”
“That’s a great idea,” I cut her off. Now I had images of Amber masturbating running through my head. “Just hang in there and let me check some info. I’ll be home in the morning. We can talk then.”
~14~
The sun was sending its last rays over the water as I stood in the Eastlake house and surveyed my surroundings. It was just as beautiful as I remembered — across the road from the famous floating houses on Lake Union. The place cost a fortune, even when Baphomet had originally bought it. Not that sufficient capital was ever a problem for us demons. Amoral beings tend to generate wealth at an astonishing rate. The house wasn’t necessarily a mansion, but in Seattle, location was king. And Eastlake was primo.
Baphomet’s residence was not as trendy as the other demon’s. Most demons moved every few months, but Baphomet had been here five years. That was practically unheard of, even though this was a house any of us would want to keep a tight hold on. Baphomet was particularly fond of his real estate purchases. I think he still had that place in London from three hundred years ago. And he’d had an absolute meltdown when his house in Sardinia had burned to the ground.
Except for myself, demons usually maxed out their stays at no more than three years. Baphomet had done an extended vacation before. We’d had a bet going on, and he’d been determined to win. Since then, he’d never stayed long, always expressing disdain for any visit more than two months. Why had he remained so long?
The only thing unusual my brief search revealed was a stack of papers on the table — some of them posters railing against demonic possession, and others letters filled with tiny handwriting. The letters all accused the reader of heinous acts and promised both banishment and an infernal afterlife. For a moment I thought I’d found some kind of clue to the killer, but then I realized the incoherent rambling was more likely that of a mentally ill person. They often recognized us demons and took especial delight in outing us to the rest of the public. Luckily, their accusations were usually just considered to be a symptom of their mental condition.
Another dead–end. This whole trip had been a bust so far. I hadn’t found anything on Baphomet’s corpse that would help me identify who had killed him, why, and where he might be. The restraint marks and traces didn’t make sense at all. Maybe if I spent more time in Baphomet’s house, searched it further, I could find something, but it was more likely I’d only find random information about his various business interests and demonic hobbies. Maybe there was no big plot. Maybe Baphomet and all the other victims had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Sighing, I glanced over at the huge communication mirror on the wall, so like my own at home. Baphomet had been my friend, and I owed it to his household to let them know about his death.
“Baal, I’m so relieved. We’ve been trying…” his steward’s voice trailed off as he realized this was not his master on the line.
“It’s me, Az. Baphomet is dead.”
It probably wasn’t the most gentle death notification call in the history of the world, but we demons are not very good at this sort of thing. I heard his sharp intake of breath.
“Angels? I told him not to stay so long, told him it was insanity, but he said he would be safe. That he knew someone.”
I snorted. No one was safe from the angels except me and my household. Probably not me either, I thought, remembering the chase down Market Street.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I told him, uncertain what to say. I assumed as the Iblis, I needed to do this sort of thing. And Baphomet had been my friend. Well, as much a friend as any demon could be.
“Iblis, I humbly ask that you accept us into your esteemed household,” the steward said without missing a beat. A household without a master wasn’t safe. They’d be picked off quickly without protection. I wasn’t much better than any other demon, in spite of my Iblis title, but I was the first available, and more likely to take them due to my friendship with the deceased.
“Sure.” I might as well. I seemed to be taking in every stray around lately. Thankfully I’d scored Haagenti’s funds when I’d killed him, or I’d be facing poverty with a household this size. It was a funny situation. Rich here among the humans, destitute in Hel.
“We’re grateful for your protection, Iblis. Is there anything I can do to assist you?”
An idea bloomed. “Yeah. How long was Baphomet here this time? And was there a demon he came over with? Somebody he mentioned living near him that he was friendly with?”
“Our former master had been on the other side of the gates for nearly seven years. He traveled over with Raim, and last I spoke with him, they were working together on a project of significance. I believe they’d become partners.”
Raim. I knew of him, although we’d never crossed paths. In Hel, he preferred an avian form — a sort of crow shape. He’d become somewhat legendary as a thief and made a hobby out of blowing up buildings. I hadn’t heard of any unexpected demolition in the last seven years, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been causing chaos in some other fashion.
“Can you contact Raim’s household? Inquire as to his whereabouts?”
“Yes, of course, Iblis, but the last I spoke with them, they had not heard from Raim. I inquired when I was unable to reach our former master, thinking they might have news of him. They too were concerned.”
Households got nervous when their heads remained away for extended periods. Could Raim also be dead? Gregory’s words echoed in my head, and I wondered if he’d snapped and began a devouring spree that would only end with his death.
“Did …did Raim devour? Were there any rumors?” It was like asking if a human were a serial rapist. Not many demons would admit to devouring. The line remained silent, and I felt the steward’s discomfort.
“There were rumors, Iblis, but no one has confirmed. I’m sure they are vicious lies told by his enemies. I’ve heard the same lies about you.”
Those lies about me were true. They were probably true about Raim too.
“Will you be continuing our prior master’s project, Iblis? Would you like me to continue sending Lows, or higher–level demons?”
I opened my mouth, but before I could ask the steward what he was talking about, the world lurched around me. With a wave of vertigo, I found myself dizzy and disorientat
ed, being hauled along by a strong arm around my waist.
“What the fuck?”
“Your flight leaves in ten minutes,” Gregory announced. “I’m having the plane held.”
My eyesight cleared, and I saw us hustling right past the security line and the scanners, everyone ignoring the angel half dragging an imp.
“You didn’t have to summon me out of the blue like that,” I complained, trying to get my feet under me to halt our breakneck pace. “I’m sure there’s another plane in the morning.”
“We have a lead on the killer. You’re going home on this plane.” The angel hauled me past the gate desk and onto the jetway.
He had a lead? Excitement poured through me. A lead! Finally, after such a discouraging afternoon. There was no way I was going to go home now. No way. I grabbed the edge of a wall, recessed to allow the walkway to collapse, and held on with all my might, nearly wrenching my shoulder from its socket.
“I’m not getting on that plane. I’m coming with you.”
“You’re getting on the plane.” He stopped and tried to pry my fingers off the ledge.
“Fuck you,” I snarled. “I’ll crash the plane, jump out the window, blow a hole through the fuselage. I’m not getting on that plane.”
That gave him pause. He stood before me, his eyes completely black, his form shimmering with indistinct edges as he took a calming breath. “Little Cockroach, you need to go home to your human and stay there. I’ll go and confront the devouring sprit.”
“Like hell. I’m coming with you. This is personal. I’ll wind up being implicated; I’m in danger of being blamed for this whole thing. I’m going to make sure it gets resolved.”
I saw him waver, saw the conflict in his eyes — his need to keep me safe versus his understanding of how I must find this guy before someone decided I was the culprit.