by M. Gregg Roe
Aliva smiled at her husband as they broke their embrace. “Maybe that’s part of it,” she said thoughtfully. “That rumor will keep people out of the North River for a while.”
“I just hope the creature doesn’t attack the ferries,” he deadpanned, causing her to laugh. She also loved his sense of humor.
In the city’s early days, Stanley hadn’t been the first to recognize the need for a ferry service at the river confluence, but he had been the first person to actually do something about it. His hard work in creating the Rohoville Ferry Company had paid off handsomely, allowing the two of them to live in relative luxury. Even though not strictly necessary, he still went into work nearly every day.
“Why don’t we eat out somewhere nice tonight?” he suggested, smiling genially. “The Lion’s dining room has windows that face north. Maybe we’ll spot the river monster during dinner.”
Aliva smiled saucily at her husband. “I’m in the mood to show off,” she purred in her sexiest voice. “The purple dress?” It was tight and revealing.
“Perfect,” he shot back. “I’ll just go like this.” He winked. “After all, we are the city’s most mismatched couple.”
“We are, indeed,” Aliva replied. Then she kissed him hard. How had she ever lived without him?
After her third misstep, Aliva put the stylus down and rubbed her eyes. She was designing a frilly blouse for a local clothing shop, but her concentration kept slipping. The clothing design and sewing were a way to keep busy while Stanley was at work, and they were activities she enjoyed. But her growing craving was becoming a problem.
Succubi, and their male counterparts, incubi, killed during the sexual act, feeding on their victim’s life-force. It was their purpose in life, maybe why they even existed. They also enjoyed the hunt, disguising themselves as a friend or loved one of their target, flaunting their raw sexuality as they seduced and toyed with their prey.
Aliva was only half succubus, the daughter of a human spell-caster that a succubus had carried off and then inexplicably fallen in love with. As such, she had inherited both her father’s talent for magic and a portion of her mother’s innate abilities. Even her name was a blend of theirs—Albert and Wiva.
The issue for Aliva had always been one of control. Her first sexual encounter ended in the death of her partner, frightening and traumatizing her. Learning to restrain herself, to drain only a portion, had been a long and arduous process. Even now, she had to maintain focus when coupling with her husband.
It wasn’t enough. From time to time, she needed to let herself go, to feast without restraint, to fulfill her demon heritage. One option was to go in search of those deserving to die, either in the city or outside. But she had another source of prey. Aliva secretly served as an executioner for the Witch’s City, and occasionally for the government of Rohoville. The Witch’s City would be making use of her services three days from now, and that was the problem. The anticipation was becoming all-consuming. That was why Stanley was currently sleeping in the spare room. He really was very understanding.
“Ahem.”
Startled, Aliva looked over to see Audrey standing in the doorway. The two of them were close friends, privy to each other’s secrets, so she knew by what means Audrey had arrived. It was an ability that Aliva envied.
“I need a favor,” Audrey said, clasping her hands together. “A big favor.”
“Someone you need me to interrogate?” Aliva asked eagerly. She licked her lips as heat flared within her loins.
Audrey rolled her eyes. “So that’s how it is. No, I have someone I want you to look after, not kill in a sexual frenzy.”
“Who?” Aliva asked, struggling to quiet her libido. It didn’t help that Audrey had once nearly become one of her victims. Furthermore, she could sense that the woman had engaged in sex recently. It was another of her abilities, but not a terribly useful one.
“Romee,” Audrey answered. “She’s been saying that she would like to study at Danj’s School of Fighting, but we don’t think it’s a good idea that she stay in the student housing. She’s too immature.”
Danj was both the King of Rohoville and one of the city’s founders. The odd name of the school he had created was typical of the man’s personality.
Aliva was well acquainted with Romee, including what a handful the teenage girl could be at times. “You want to know if she can stay here,” she said, half to herself. “I’ll need to talk to Stanley, but I’m sure he’ll agree.”
“Thank you,” Audrey said, her relief evident. “We’ll take care of her application and tuition. It will only be for about three months.”
“Unless she likes it and wants to continue,” Aliva added. Each change of season brought a new session of classes. Summer was about half a month away.
Audrey nodded. “The other issue is boys. She’s showing a definite interest, and… Well, you know how she is.”
Aliva did. Romee was rather naïve in some respects, and horny teenage boys weren’t above taking advantage of that kind of thing. “I think we can deal with it,” she told her friend. It was just one teenage girl.
“I really appreciate it. Do you want me to bring her here? The normal way, of course.”
“I’ll be heading to the Witch’s City in three days,” Aliva told her. “I could take Romee back with me the day after.”
“An execution?” Audrey asked, arching an eyebrow.
Aliva nodded as the heat flared again. “A male half-elf. Mid-thirties.”
“Lucky him. Well, sort of.”
It was a mixed blessing. The man would experience more pleasure than he had ever imagined possible. And more pain. Aliva was half demon, after all.
“I would like a favor in return,” Aliva rasped, her body tingling as she rose onto the balls of her feet. The anticipation had become unbearable. Sex with Audrey wouldn’t fully satisfy her, but it should allow her to regain control.
Audrey smirked as she unbuttoned her blouse. “I wasn’t the Guardian the last time we did this. You won’t need to heal me afterward this time.”
That was even better. With an animal moan, Aliva pounced on her willing prey.
Filled with energy from the life-force she had drained, Aliva exulted in her kill. Her naked body dripped with blood and other bodily fluids. The man’s body was a mangled ruin. (A succubus in heat was unnaturally strong.) Her own injuries were already healing—that was one of the good things about being half demon. The pain had intensified her emotions, resulting in a magnificent sexual release as the man breathed his last. No matter how extreme, normal sex simply couldn’t compare to it.
That the man so deserved death made it even sweeter. He had reported that his wife had run off, taking their eight-year-old son with him. And he had maintained that story even when questioned by a Priestess of Dukane, refusing to accept that the woman could discern when someone was telling deliberate untruths. Only when compelled by magic had the truth come out: He had killed them both and dumped their bodies in the Witchmarsh. A search found no sign of the bodies, but that was typical. Home to a variety of predators, including many alligators, the marsh was the perfect place to dispose of corpses.
Aliva stared at the mixture of liquids now working their way toward and down the small drain in the stone floor. Situated well below the Witch’s Castle, the chamber reeked of blood and sex and death. Even though sated, she needed to calm herself. If a male were to enter the room, he would become her next victim in short order. That was why there were only female guards outside.
The scented candles burning in iron brackets installed at all four corners of the room were helping somewhat, but she really needed to clean herself off. After knocking twice on the heavy oak door that opened onto a hallway, she went through the matching door opposite and closed it behind her. Candles burned there too, illuminating a water-filled brass tub and a small table holding soap, shampoo, and a plentiful supply of cotton towels. Aliva took her time with her ablutions, ignoring the sounds from out
side as guards removed the body and cleaned the room. After drying herself off, she donned her clothing and went out the door, carrying her black cloak over her left arm. Other than some stains and a lingering odor, there was no evidence of what had occurred.
“Did he tell you anything useful?” Eomera asked, slouching against the wall on the right. The middle-aged elf wore the black-and-silver uniform of the Witch’s City Guard, specifically that of its captain. She always took a personal interest in executions.
Most elves were good-looking, particularly to human eyes. Eomera was an exception, seemingly taking pride in her unattractiveness. Her deep tan skin had an unhealthy look, pitted and dry. Cropped short, her auburn hair was limp and dull. Straightening crooked teeth was a relatively painless procedure, but the woman had never bothered. Her face was severe, giving her a menacing look that matched her exuberant personality. Even her large eyes were an unappealing shade of blue.
“No, he didn’t,” Aliva answered. She was skilled at extracting information, but she did it by making use of her innate glamour ability, not through torture. There was nothing like extreme sexual arousal to make someone talkative. “He just decided he was tired of them,” she said in disgust. “He was insane.”
“Of course he was,” Eomera sighed. “And now people suddenly remember times when he acted oddly. That’s almost always how it is.” She moved away from the wall slightly and straightened her shirt. “If you’re thinking of going out tonight, it’s still pouring rain out there.”
Aliva had been thinking of at least taking a walk, and maybe even flying around to burn off energy. “Then I’ll just stay in.” They had already assigned her a guest room in the castle.
“I hear you’ll be looking after Romee for a while,” Eomera said casually.
Even had Eomera not held such an important position, Aliva suspected that the woman would have somehow known. She seemed to have her own personal intelligence network.
“Stanley and I are looking forward to it,” Aliva told her. “We’ve been discussing adopting a child.” Half-demons were sterile, so she would never have children of her own.
Eomera narrowed her eyes. “It’s your life, but I’d give it some serious thought. What’s your lifespan, anyway?”
Aliva’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe two centuries, but I can appear to age normally.” It was something that she had already begun to experiment with. She was going to at least appear to grow old along with Stanley. “Any child we raise will eventually be told the truth about what I am.”
“Of course. Sorry.” Eomera grinned, displaying her ugly teeth. “Want to have a drink with me? I know where the kitchen staff hide the good stuff.”
They ended up in a small meeting room, sharing a small brown jug filled with something that smelled of cherries but left a nutty aftertaste. Still feeling the effects of her earlier activity, Aliva was soon finding it difficult to think straight.
“We have no more executions scheduled,” Eomera said, then took a swig.
Aliva’s shrug made her head swim. “I’m good for a few months,” she said, reaching out for the jug. The weird flavor was growing on her.
“And I’m happiest when there are no murders,” Eomera returned, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her neck.
“I wish I didn’t have to do this,” Aliva confessed. “I wish I were normal.” The alcohol-induced admission felt so good she took another sip.
“Even if it meant not being beautiful?”
As the words seemed to echo in her skull, Aliva put the nearly empty jug down harder than she intended. When she had finally mastered the ability to alter her appearance, she could easily have chosen something more normal. Her justification at the time had been that only slight alterations were possible in order that people not become suspicious. But she had been lying to herself. Those she really cared about knew what she was and would have adapted. Her choice had been vanity.
Trapped in regret, Aliva didn’t even notice that Eomera had gotten up until the woman was standing alongside and offering an arm. With a sheepish smile, Aliva accepted the help to stand. When it came to drinking, no one could hold their liquor like Eomera, not even a half-demon.
[ 3 ]
The Warrior
It began with an anonymous tip, scrawled in a messy hand on nondescript beige paper and simply addressed to the “Witch’s City Guard.” It didn’t take long to confirm that the item mentioned really was missing. A thorough inspection of the large storage vault deep beneath the Witch’s Castle was now underway. Recent inventories had only verified that no boxes or crates were missing. This one required that every container be opened and scrutinized, and it was being supervised by members of High Witch Ermizad’s personal guard.
Gabriel regarded the edged weapon with a critical eye. Hanging vertically from a wooden rack within a glass case that had a bronze frame, it was the type of sword usually referred to as a saber, long but with a narrow blade that came to a point. Sabers could be used to either slash or stab, and they weren’t nearly as heavy as a longsword (which was his weapon of choice). The last time he had seen this particular weapon—the only time, in fact—it had been streaked with dried blood. Now the steel gleamed in the bright light entering through the room’s two large skylights. The sword’s hilt was wrapped in black leather that looked new, while the edges of the blade were dull and showed many nicks.
“Sword used in the massacre at Desires,” read Sergeant Peri, standing just to his right, where there was a small brass plaque affixed to the wooden wall. Like him, she was attired all in black, even down to her boots. The sleeves of her tailored shirt showed the three silver stripes of a sergeant, in contrast to the four stripes on his own. “It’s even got the date: Twenty-third day of the first month of Summer, Year 4286 K.E. I can’t believe it’s been that long.”
That had been nearly four years ago, at a time when Gabriel had been away. A man had entered Desires, the city’s most elite (and expensive) brothel, and used this very weapon to either wound or slay several courtesans before being slain himself. Peri had been one of the first members of the Witch’s City Guard to arrive at the horrific scene, and it had haunted her for some time.
“Cinda still thanks me whenever we meet,” Peri said, tugging at the woven braid that hung down behind her left ear.
That was because Peri had used her then-rudimentary magical talents to save Cinda’s life. Save for the attacker, all of those slain had subsequently been raised from the dead, but the loss of a life was still a serious matter. Some people only had two.
Peri—short for Periwinkle—had been convinced that joining the guard would allow her to finally rid herself of her excess weight. But hours of patrolling the city day after day had just made her stronger, not slimmer. He had been her first partner back when she had been Private Peri (and he had been a corporal). Now she supervised the Guard’s spell-casters and reported directly to him.
Another thing that hadn’t changed over the years was Peri’s hairstyle. Short brown braids hung on either side of her head, and she often tugged on one when she was thinking. Her brown eyes were a bit darker than his own, while her skin was a shade lighter than his deep tan. He had always thought her round face a suitable match for her agreeable personality.
Gabriel gestured to indicate the other exhibits in the large room. “What of these other items?” It was very much like a museum.
Peri shrugged. “The couple that live here say that they purchased everything legally, but they admit they knew this sword had to have been stolen. They’re being very cooperative.”
It was the thief that concerned Gabriel, presumably a guard that had worked in the Witch’s Castle at that time. But by now they might live elsewhere using a different name. Finding them wouldn’t be easy. It might not even be possible.
“Has the sword’s curse has affected the couple?” he inquired, remembering what had been discovered after the crime.
“It’s unlikely,” she answered. “The sword’s e
nchantment is slow-acting, not one that takes effect as soon as you touch it. It intensifies the owner’s emotions, especially their regrets and fears. Unless they took the sword out and handled it frequently, they should be safe.”
Gabriel pointed at the thumbnail-size blue gem attached to the sword’s steel pommel. “Is that valuable?” It looked impressive, but it might just be colored glass.
“We actually had a jeweler look it over. It is a sapphire, but it’s been cut poorly and has many flaws. So no, it’s really more pretty than valuable.”
It was also the type of ornamentation that no serious warrior would have on one of their weapons.
“We will need to guard this house until a decision is made as to the sword’s disposition,” he told her. They couldn’t risk someone else breaking in and stealing it.
“Just what I want to talk to you about,” Captain Eomera announced as she strutted in smirking. Gabriel and Peri promptly came to attention and saluted, but the woman merely waved her right hand at them casually. “Relax, you two. Ermizad wants to see if Desires is interested in taking possession of the sword. If not, we may just leave it here.”
“Leave it here?” he asked in consternation.
“It’s been here for years without causing harm,” Eomera retorted. “Peri, can you use magic to secure the case?”
Peri hesitated briefly. “I can magically lock the display case and then place a warding glyph that will trigger if the glass breaks. That will paralyze anyone nearby.”
Eomera smiled crookedly. “Perfect. Do that. Gabriel, go over to Desires and talk to them. Tell them we’ll throw in the display case.”
“And the plaque,” Peri added helpfully.
There was no point in protesting; orders were orders. After snapping a proper salute, he made his way out of the house, finding a small crowd gathered out front, no doubt attracted by the presence of four stern-looking city guards. He could have exited out the back of the posh townhouse, but there were probably curious onlookers there, as well.