Tales from the Dubh Linn

by Niall Teasdale

  ‘I’m sorry, Wendy, I really am. I have a daughter to think of, you see. I can’t have anyone knowing I killed your husband, and you’re the only one who does.’

  Wendy did not really understand what he was saying; her mind was collapsing under the euphoria her body was feeling. She only really knew that she wanted this to go on forever.

  ‘She must be seven now and I’ve never met her. I didn’t really know I’d been successful until you brought me here. I should be thankful for this chance. I am thankful. I hope this day of pleasure makes up for what’s about to happen to you. I’ll hold onto you for as long as I can.’

  He did, for another five minutes, until he felt the resistance which told him he had drawn as much power as he could from her and he let her come. She opened her mouth to scream as her climax finally crashed through her and her heart gave out under the pressure.

  Faran climbed off the bed and went to take a shower. He would call the police from somewhere on the way to Bristol. Otherwise she might not be found for days and that would not be fair. Clean and dry he checked through the closets to see whether anything of Barry’s that would fit him; manifesting clothes was never as good as having real ones when you were trying to blend in.

  He took one last look at the body on the bed and then covered her over with the duvet before leaving. It was a long way to Bristol and he wanted to be there before Christmas.

  The Body Trade

  London, England, June 2008

  ‘You’re going to end up in a body bag, Lis.’ Elisabeth Mannors looked seriously back at her editor, Dave Link, attempting to convey competence. She was competent, though she had never taken on a story like this one before. ‘These people don’t mess around,’ Dave went on. ‘If you get close… well there may not be a body bag because there might not be a body.’

  ‘I know the risks, Boss,’ Lis replied. ‘This is an important story. My contact says these people are shipping hundreds of girls into the country each month. They vanish into the sex industry. They end up in prostitution, illegal pornography. They’re slaves, Boss.’

  ‘All right, keep digging.’ He pinned her with a pair of steely blue eyes. ‘But you take care. I’ve never lost a journalist, and I’m not starting with you.’

  Nodding, Lis got up from her chair and headed out of the office. She needed to head home and get changed because she was meeting her contact at lunchtime and you did not go to the Dubh Linn dressed in a business suit. Well, not unless you wanted the patrons to assume you were a cop or a reporter anyway.

  Her flat was in Golders Green. Nothing fancy, but she liked it and had it pretty much how she wanted. The neighbours were nice; mostly Jewish, but they treated the Gentile girl from The Guardian quite well and did not look down their noses at her when she went out in rather more risqué clothing than they were prone to allowing their daughters out in. She had even had compliments on some of her articles.

  Stripping down to her underwear, Lis stared at the contents of her wardrobe for several minutes, lips pursed as she considered her options. Her snitch went by the name of Winston; he had never given her another name. He was a witch, of sorts, though she had never worked out exactly what he did and suspected he dealt in some of the rather less savoury aspects of the art. People who frequented the Dubh Linn were generally not the best of society and Lis had no doubt that Winston was no better than the rest.

  He was also a letch. Taking off her bra, she selected a mini-dress with a little built-in support and struggled into it. It was tight and it gave her natural assets an impressive uplift. Winston would spend the time looking at her boobs and would likely let more slip. The dress was also a deep crimson which suited the setting in daytime; black was better for night, but she tried to avoid going there after dark. Four-inch, red pumps completed the outfit. It was plenty warm outside, she was not going to need a coat, so she picked up her bag with her “reporter kit” in it and headed out to Mayfair.

  ~~~

  The Dubh Linn could have been a nice, down-to-earth pub if it were not for the atmosphere. The walls were bare brick, the ceiling was the floorboards of the building above. Thick, wooden posts broke up the room and there were booths at the sides from which eyes watched Lis as she walked up to the bar. She was fairly sure most of the eyes belonged to people who wanted to eat her, literally. It did not make her feel all that comfortable.

  The barman was tall, dark, gloriously handsome. She figured he was fae, a Sidhe. He had the Irish accent and the charm; boy did he have charm. Lis reckoned her chances of saying no to him if he ever made a pass at her were slim to none, but so far he never had.

  ‘Red wine and a light beer, please,’ she said placing a note on the counter.

  ‘You’re almost becoming a regular,’ he commented as he put the beer bottle and a glass down, turning again to get her wine.

  ‘Just meeting someone.’

  He put the wine glass down, picked up the note, returned her change. ‘Winston. You look smart, why are you hanging around with that loser?’ Lis shrugged in reply. ‘He won’t protect you if someone else wants you so watch yourself.’

  Not really knowing what to say to that, Lis picked up her purchases and headed for the table where Winston was waiting. The idea of him protecting himself was pretty funny, never mind him protecting her. He managed to be thin and flabby at the same time; the flesh hanging loosely around his cheeks and chin. She doubted he had any muscle at all and figured that even her trim body had ten pounds on him. Not in the least attractive, his eyes were his worst feature; blue, but more like all the colour had been washed out of them. She put his beer down in front of him and slipped into the booth on the opposite side of the table. As expected, his watery eyes fixed on her cleavage and stayed there.

  ‘What’s new, Winston?’ she asked.

  ‘Word is they moved four new girls in last night.’ He poured out his beer and sucked down half of it before going on. ‘Two were shipped up to Manchester, two stayed in London. The London ones are going to this new outfit I never heard of. Real private. No one’s got anything on them. No one willing to talk anyway. Except maybe…’ He stopped, looking around the pub. Her cleavage was not working as well as she had hoped.

  ‘Except?’ Putting her glass down, she casually adjusted her décolletage. Winston’s eyes were drawn back instantly.

  ‘Belvedere. I heard he’d bought a couple of girls off them for films.’

  She did not recognise the name. ‘Where do I find this Belvedere?’

  ‘He hangs out at the Fun Factory some nights. Heard of it? It’s a club, on East India Dock Road. You can’t miss him. He’s Sidhe, Unseelie. There’s not much he doesn’t know about porn and prostitution. He’s got his finger in most of it. You might get him to talk. Maybe. There’ll be a price.’

  ‘Belvedere, the Fun Factory?’ Lis said. Winston nodded at her and she got up, removing her breasts from his sight. She tossed a couple of notes into his lap as she walked past. All right then, she would see Belvedere, whoever he was. All she had to do was hang around a club until he showed up. That would not kill her; David was always telling her she needed to get out more.

  ~~~

  The Fun Factory, it turned out, was really an old factory, though the inside had been heavily remodelled. There were two main rooms in the place. As you entered down a pitch black corridor you walked onto a dance floor where the music was so loud conversation was impossible. From what Lis could gather, talking was not the point; either you danced or you picked up partners to take to the sides of the room where couches were supplied for more intimate forms of dance. Further in was another room where you could sit and chat, or chill, or shag people in public. The Fun Factory was for the very uninhibited.

  It was also harder to get into than Lis had expected. On the first night she had turned up in a black mini-dress. The bouncers had looked her up and down and shaken their heads so she had backed off and watched the people who were getting in. The next day she had gone shopping because sh
e simply did not have that sort of wardrobe.

  Returning that night, braless with a mesh cropped top and a skirt which was more like a belt, and in thigh boots with six-inch heels and an inch of platform, and a lot more make-up than she usually wore, she had been passed to go in, only to discover that Belvedere was not there. The same happened for three more nights and Lis was starting to get the hang of the place, which worried her.

  She had worked out the system in the disco. If you wanted a partner, or several partners, you sat at one of the tables around the room. Then someone would come over and invite you to a sofa. She had discovered, embarrassingly, that it was impolite to decline.

  Trying to avoid more embarrassment, and inner ear damage, she had migrated to the back room. Someone said Belvedere was usually in there anyway. Unfortunately, it had its own danger. She was not sure what it was, but a few minutes in there and she found herself wet and watching the couples and threesomes on the cushions with considerable interest. A few of the men and at least one woman seemed to have noticed her after the first two nights. None of them approached yet, but she saw them looking and she was starting to wonder whether she would say no if one of them asked her to join them in a corner.

  On the fourth night she was actually thinking about talking to someone herself when she spotted the man watching her from across the table she was sitting at. Her breath caught. He was beautiful. Dusky skinned, black hair which fell artfully around his shoulders, delicate, exotic features, but a masculine jawline. In fact he was all masculine, maleness seemed to float around him like a musk. His muscled body was shown off by the loose, black silk shirt he wore open to the navel and the tight riding britches, also in black. His boots were styled after riding boots as well, but the overall impression was that of a fantasy pirate, or maybe one of those hunky landowners who would sweep the heroine off her feet in a romance novel.

  ‘I have been informed that you are looking for me.’ His voice seemed to wrap around her like a caress. Her skin tingled and a pulse started deep in her groin.

  ‘Belvedere?’

  ‘At your service.’ He said “service” as though it was a proposition.

  ‘Could we talk? Somewhere private?’

  His lips quirked from a slight smile to more of a grin. ‘No, but we can speak somewhere more private.’ He walked past her, toward one of the back walls, and she hurried to follow him. She had taken one quick look down the corridor he was taking; there were rooms at the sides of it with chairs and a futon in each. If someone had taken her to one of those, out of immediate sight, she would have been on her back in seconds and now the sexiest man in the club was doing just that.

  He more or less fell into one of the high-backed chairs in a room near the very back of the club. It still looked as though he had more poise than a prima ballerina. Lis sat down in the seat opposite feeling like a graceless lump in comparison. ‘I’m looking for some people,’ she said. ‘Traffickers. Someone told me you might have… had some contact with them.’

  Belvedere’s eyes roamed over her and she struggled not to cover herself. She felt like he was drinking her in with his jet black eyes. Worse, she felt herself becoming wetter with every second he looked. ‘Not police,’ he said. ‘A reporter. An investigative journalist.’ She did not say anything in reply, but he seemed to get his confirmation. ‘What should I call you?’

  ‘Lis.’

  ‘Well, Lis…’ A ripple of pleasure ran from her clit to her nipples at the sound of her name on his lips. ‘…why should I assist you in this matter?’

  ‘Because…’ She could not really think of a reason why he should. ‘Because it’s the right thing to do?’

  His laugh boomed in her ears. ‘Do I look like a man interested in doing the “right thing,” Lis?’

  This time the sound of her name almost made her gasp. ‘They’re taking innocent girls and turning them into…’

  ‘Toys,’ he said, ‘prostitutes, fodder for illegal pornography. I know what they do. As you said, I’ve had dealings with them.’ His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘What they do is useful, but distasteful. I might be willing to point you in the right direction. There would be a price.’

  ‘How much?’ she asked, resigned to the idea of a big pay out for this one.

  His laugh surprised her. ‘I have more money than I can comfortably spend, Lis.’ He noticed her squirm at the sound of her name and his smile broadened.

  ‘Then… what do you want?’

  ‘Tonight,’ he replied.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Give me yourself until morning and I’ll get you the information you want.’ Her eyes widened and he smiled. ‘What are you willing to do to get your story, Lis?’

  This time a tiny gasp did escape her throat. If it was not obvious she wanted him before then it was now, but was she really willing to prostitute herself for this? Give her body to save other women’s bodies. Sitting in a room with this man it seemed like a fair trade. She had a feeling she was going to enjoy it far more than the people she was trying to rescue. She nodded.

  Belvedere smiled and beckoned to her. ‘We’ll begin here,’ he said.

  ~~~

  The fae lived in a four storey nineteenth century terraced house on Belgravia Square. The entire top floor was a huge, open bedroom with the bed occupying the middle of the back half of the room. It was comfortable, firm, and equipped with restraints with which Lis was now intimately familiar. The other half of the room had two couches and a chaise longe, and he had taken her on all of them before they moved on to the bed. She shuddered as she remembered kneeling with her hands tied behind her back with a silk scarf, her breasts on the chaise and him pounding into her from behind…

  ‘It will take me a day or two to get your information,’ Belvedere said. His fingers trailed down her spine. She was lying on the bed, her face buried in a soft, down pillow while he lay on his side beside her. ‘I won’t back out of our arrangement. We have made a deal and you have kept your end of the bargain. A fae never breaks a bargain once made.’

  ‘Do you want my number?’ she mumbled through the cloth.

  ‘I’ll contact you when I have what you need… Lis.’ Once again her name sent a ripple through her pussy and she moaned. He let out a soft chuckle. ‘Perhaps once more before you leave.’ Two of his fingers slid into her, circling inside her, and all she could do was moan in reply.

  ~~~

  ‘Did you get laid last night, Lis?’ Wally Dredge was the kind of journalist who gave raincoats a bad name, but he did do good work. He also liked teasing Lis about her general lack of a sex life.

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business, Wally, but yes.’ Wally’s mouth opened and then closed again. ‘Tall, attractive, well-muscled, and we were at it all night in every possible way you can imagine.’ She smiled sweetly at him and he suddenly had an urge to pay as much attention as possible to his work.

  Lis went back to examining the articles in today’s edition of the paper, coming to a sudden stop on page five. The body of Winston Beryl, witch, aged 39, was found in his flat in Chiswick yesterday night after police were called to a disturbance. Reports indicate that Beryl, known to the police for various criminal activities, was killed by two zombies. At this time, police are still investigating who sent the undead to murder Beryl.

  There was no description or photograph, but it was too much of a coincidence. Winston was dead. Mind you, killed by zombies. It seemed likely that one of his magical associates had done him in. Probably nothing to do with her story. Still… She decided that picking up some charms against zombies to hang at the doors and windows of her flat would probably be a good idea.

  ~~~

  The hot water from the shower felt good as it washed away Lis’ disappointment. It had been three days and she had heard nothing from Belvedere. She was starting to wonder whether she should go back the Fun Factory. What was the procedure for issuing a suit for a fae reneging on a contract?

  Then a pair of stro
ng hands were cupping her breasts and she could feel a very male body against her back. She moaned as his fingers caressed her skin. One touch from the man and she was his plaything. Damn! He was gentle, but insistent, pushing her against the cubicle wall, spreading her legs, and entering her slowly. When he was done with her she was quivering, and he took her from the shower and dried them both before carrying her into the lounge.

  ‘How did you get in here?’ she asked as he put her down on her couch.

  ‘I’m fae,’ he said, as though that explained everything. He slipped himself under her legs and began stroking her thigh, and she relaxed back against the couch with a sigh. ‘I need to ask you a question.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you sure you want the information I have for you? I am here to pay my debt. I can present you with what you asked for, or you can set me free of the obligation.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because the information I have for you is dangerous.’

  Lis smiled. ‘My boss said the same thing. He said I could get myself killed. I told him the risk was worth it.’

  ‘Your boss is wrong. These people are most unlikely to kill you.’

  ‘Well then…

  ‘There are much worse things than death, Lis.’ He was serious; her name on his lips did not touch her at all.

  She looked into his eyes, the same deep, dark eyes she had looked into for an entire night, and suddenly felt cold. ‘It… It’s worth the risk.’

  ‘Very well. Please don’t say I didn’t give you the chance. They have another shipment coming in tomorrow night. Five girls will be landed near Canary Wharf Pier at eleven pm. I’ll provide the exact location.’