Succubus Takes Manhattan

by Nina Harper

  Eros rolled her eyes. “Do you have any evidence?” she asked quite reasonably. “Or do you just accost random women in restaurants?”

  “You are of the devil,” Branford sputtered.

  Eros laughed heartily. “Oh, don’t you just wish. Your actions over the past month and a half would constitute stalking, and I think a judge wouldn’t think twice about issuing a restraining order. Demons aren’t real, and I would heartily recommend that you get yourself into therapy before you get into any more trouble.”

  Then she turned to me. “Come on, Lily. Let’s get out of here.”

  She rose and slid into her coat. I followed her out onto Elizabeth Street, and up the few feet to Houston where she flagged down a cab.

  “There,” she said. “That should take care of him.”

  “It was brilliant, Eros.” I had to admire what she’d done. “But I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to find out who was giving him the information. Because someone had to have told him who we are and where we go and where we live. He had all of our addresses. And there was someone following me in Venice. I think.”

  Eros shrugged under her pink and orange fake fur. “It doesn’t matter if he’s gone. And I think you’re just being paranoid about being followed. He’s just some little creep, that’s all.”

  I didn’t say anything, but I was angry. It did matter. She might have scared off Branford, but whoever had been feeding him information wouldn’t stop. And at least we knew about Branford, knew who he was and that he was dangerous.

  Downside of having a demigoddess for a friend. I couldn’t really blame Eros for being who she was. Nor had she been privy to my talks with Meph and Marduk; she had no reason to think Branford was anything more than an annoyance, a fanatic who had somehow decided we were his nemeses. She didn’t know how big it really was.

  The cab dropped me at home and then went on with Eros. I had only a few hours until I had to get ready for my date with Marten, and I wanted to look killer. After being jilted by the first guy I’d fallen for in three hundred years, I needed to shore up my self-esteem.

  But first, Meph. I needed something faster and more personal than e-mail. I called his cell.

  Yeah, Hell is wired, and Meph’s phone works anywhere—on Earth or elsewhere. Only about ten people or so have that number. He picked up on the second ring.

  “Lily, I’ve been waiting to hear from you,” he said without preamble.

  “I’ve got a lot for you and my phone isn’t secure. Is there someplace safe that we could meet face-to-face?” I asked.

  “Do you have my sigil?”

  I didn’t, at least not one that hadn’t been published in about a million books.

  “You’ve got photo capability on your cell, don’t you?” he asked. “I’ve got a picture on mine and I’ll send it to you. Work the sigil and you’ll be here, and this here should be secure.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “It’ll take me a couple of minutes.”

  “The sooner the better,” he said, and hung up.

  The sigil displayed on the tiny phone screen was new to me. Meph must have changed his locks since the last time I’d had to do this.

  I hate porting by sigil. It’s uncomfortable and messy. I went into my bathroom because I needed a mirror, and the bathroom would be easier to clean up after than my bedroom. Besides, the bathroom is where I kept the lancets.

  Once upon a not very long time ago I had to use a knife or a straight razor to nick myself. Ichor is essential to the process. Now I can buy lancets by the fifty count at the local Duane Reade.

  Before the ichor came the setup. I got out the brazier and laid out the lancet, the cell phone, the chalice, and the salt before I dragged the step stool out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

  The top of the hall closet is full of the magical equipment I don’t use very often. Once upon a time I would have had this all much closer to hand, but since the Internet and the cell phone had become commonplace among Hellspawn, I didn’t need to do ritual to communicate anymore.

  I could ask Marten tonight. That would be amusing dinner date conversation.

  No. I had to return my attention to getting to Meph. I had already compounded an incense for porting to the highest regions of Hell, and of course it was on the bottom of the big paper bag of incenses. After a good ten minutes of rummaging, I found the packet in a Ziploc baggie with Meph’s name in Magic Marker on the side. The only other thing I needed was salt. That came in a dark blue Morton’s carton on top of the fridge.

  When I had everything organized, I lit the vanilla-scented candle that lived near the brazier, hit the light, and focused my thoughts. I scattered salt in a circle around me that included the sink and mirror, touching the tiled wall on each side. Then I started the selfigniting charcoal over the candle flame. I lit the incense and presented the brazier to the four cardinal points, thoroughly stinking up the bathroom, the towels, and my hair. Only when the entire area had been psychically cleansed and prepared did I pull the plastic cap off the lancet and stab the end of my first finger.

  Then, as the ichor started to well up in the cut, I followed the lines of the sigil on the phone screen, and reproduced the drawing on my bathroom mirror.

  A sigil is a map and a word and Names of Power all at the same time. Some are linked to entities, others to places, and a very few to organizational centers. When I was satisfied that the sigil was drawn correctly, I began to chant the Names of Power associated with Meph and the area of Hell I needed to enter. The vibration in the chanting activated the ichor sigil in the mirror and it began to shimmer.

  I repeated the chant again, louder, watching as the lines of the figure went from flicker to steady glow. A third repetition and a final censing of the image with the smoke made the lines and symbols before me blaze like neon, and the color of this brilliant sign suffused the small circle I had drawn.

  Smoke from the incense obscured the bathtub and toilet. The sigil became more real than I was, and I saw my hands as ghostly shadows in the smoke. It was time. I called on Mephistopheles in his secret Names of Power and reached out to the small circle that indicated the starting point of the map.

  I felt my being sucked into the bars of light. The sensation was like being propelled through all the strokes of the sigil, each in order. The movement was rapid but on some level it felt like it took forever.

  And then I was in Hell. In a tiny jewel box of a room appointed in the Venetian manner, gold and deep red and sky blue all combined into a dizzying Baroque array. A great gilded wing chair upholstered in pink and blue and gold brocade sat facing a delicately curved settee in a different brocade of similar hues. A Murano chandelier glittered overhead in four falls of dolphins and dragons that reflected and enhanced the warm golden candlelight. Two delicate side chairs completed the seating and the rest of the space was filled with tables made from inlaid marble and wooden marquetry.

  I knew Mephistopheles would appear on the wing chair, but try as I might to concentrate, I could not see him arrive. I was watching an empty space for a few minutes, and then Meph was there, sitting as if he had been there waiting for me, his Brioni suit a matched chalk-striped medium gray that brought out the subtle silver at his temples. Mephistopheles makes a very good-looking man.

  “Lily, thank you for joining me,” he said graciously as he passed his hand over the table. A platter of fruit and cheese and paté appeared in the center, and three Venetian wineglasses and a decanter of red joined it somewhat closer to Meph. “I know this is less convenient than sending me e-mail or telling me over the phone, but you were concerned about our privacy.”

  I nodded, in complete agreement.

  “I am sorry not to engage in small talk, but perhaps under the circumstances it would be best if you simply told me as much as you know, as clearly as you can.”

  So I told him. I told him about talking to Marduk and the problems in the Treasury and Budget. And I told him how frightened Marduk was. I also told him about Craig Bra
nford showing up at Public today of all days.

  Meph sat absolutely still. I had no idea of what he was thinking; he could have been a simulacrum for all the reaction he showed.

  He waited until I was done with my recitation, and paused for a moment after to pour wine.

  “Interesting,” he said. “So Marduk may even be approachable as an ally.”

  I nodded vigorously. “I think so. I think he is more concerned with where the money is going and who is stealing from Satan than with his own status at the moment.”

  If Satan discovered the theft before Marduk had caught the culprit and replaced the funds, Marduk would have less status in Hell than a newbie demon doorman. Marduk was fighting for his survival, which for a former god and head of a pantheon must be horrible.

  I smelled the familiar incense, almost identical to what I had lit in my bathroom, and Mephistopheles poured a third glass of sherry. “Our newest confederate,” he said.

  The smoke glimmered, and when it cleared Marten stood in front of the spindly chairs. In a long deep-gray robe and iron lamin, with a silver ribbon tied around his forehead, he looked haggard, and older than he’d seemed on Aruba. His face was set and grim and he shook Meph’s hand before taking a seat.

  Only then did Marten notice me, and his eyes grew wide for a moment before a slow knowing smile acknowledged me.

  Well, that answered a lot of questions.

  Suddenly I was conscious of the fact that I was not particularly well dressed for the occasion. Marten was dressed in robes that probably reflected some astrological event and sphere of existence, Meph was in Brioni, and I was in jeans.

  “I believe you are already acquainted,” Mephistopheles said in his best imitation of a Regency gentleman. “Still—Lily, Marten, as you know, is a ceremonial magician. Part of his agreement with me includes a bit of investigation in the same matter as I have asked you about. Marten, I know you are aware that Lily is a succubus and one that I am proud to claim as an ally. You may not be aware that she is also one of Satan’s Chosen companions, and so is assisting me in this matter as Satan’s Own Handmaiden.”

  Marten stood and bowed to me formally. I just waved my hand. “Oh, sit down,” I said to him. “I’m still going to dress nicer for tonight.”

  He sat.

  “Please let us know what you have discovered,” Meph said to him. “Lily has just given me evidence that Marduk is probably not the traitor we’re looking for, but is being set up himself.”

  Marten nodded slowly. “Yes, that would make sense. Hatuman mentioned several times that Marduk might be replaced. I found that especially interesting as there were no rumors, no gossip, about why Satan might be displeased with him.”

  I shrugged. “Marduk can be a stick in the mud, but he’s loyal. And he’s happy doing a job that no one else wants. He’s not important enough in the Hierarchy himself,” I mused, but Meph held up his hand and nodded toward Marten.

  “Please continue.”

  Marten addressed his next remark to me. “I don’t believe that Hatuman has anything to do with this. He’s more interested in passing gossip than actual politics. Honestly, I believe that Hatuman is too lazy to take initiative against Mephistopheles. Or, to be more accurate, that he has achieved his ambition. He throws the most popular parties in Hell.”

  “Not much of an ambition,” Mephistopheles huffed.

  “Now who’s being a prig?” I eyed him pointedly. “He had a goal and he’s attained it. Everyone wants invitations to Hatuman’s parties. Sometimes even Satan will make an appearance. And he’s a great source of information.”

  “For anyone,” Mephistopheles sighed heavily. “If this is all true. If we are not falling for some concealment.” He turned back to Marten. “Is there anything more?”

  “A great deal, none of it important, or even meaningful . . . on the surface. Beliel was not approachable last night.” At that, Marten looked at me with an eyebrow raised. I shrugged. Eros had deflected all questions at brunch and that had made me suspicious.

  “More interesting,” Marten resumed his briefing, “no one else from Security was there either. Now why would all of Security stay away? Even Beliel’s incubi were notably absent. Hatuman felt snubbed.”

  Meph filled the three goblets with wine. I sipped with pleasure. I had never drunk a Spanish Reserva before, and this was a lovely ’81 that was perfect with the salty Gouda Robusto on the tray.

  “I had an idea while I was talking to Marduk,” I said slowly, not sure this was the right time. I hadn’t had any time to develop the concept, but with both of them in the room it seemed too opportune to pass up. “He said he needs an accountant, someone who might be able to find out who’s stealing. And I told him I knew one.” I looked pointedly at Marten. “He said he would be interested in talking to someone. I realize I don’t know what you actually do. For all I know you specialize in Dutch taxes and this would be ridiculous. But if you could look at Marduk’s books, maybe you could find out more about what’s going on.”

  Meph’s eyes widened and he looked at me, and then Marten, and then he smiled. “Lily, you are a genius. This is brilliant. Marten’s expertise is precisely in the areas that Marduk needs.”

  “For a fee,” Marten interrupted. “For my full consulting fee plus expenses and extra for rush and confidentiality.”

  “But you’re not going to keep it confidential,” I protested. “You’re going to tell Mephistopheles.”

  Marten’s eyes became cold, and I could see that he was a little more dangerous than I had suspected back in Aruba. “I will not tell Satan, unless Marduk himself is the one behind it.”

  “I don’t want him hurt,” I said to Meph. “These people are dangerous.”

  The cold smile never left Marten’s face. “I can handle them, I think.”

  “I know they’re dangerous, Lily,” Mephistopheles interrupted. “They are threatening the base of the power structure and they have to be getting inside information. Which is why we have to take every possible opportunity to get rid of the source of information as quickly as we can.” Satan’s most trusted deputy came over to me and took my hands in his, palms up. “We cannot risk you,” he said softly. “The Knight Defenders came far too close last time. We have got to find the demon who has been giving them information before those fanatics can try anything again. I suspect that the increased activity of groups like Branford’s has been encouraged by someone in Hell. Someone is giving them information and money.”

  I stared at my palms. They had been burned deeply, roasted, by a note written on elegant bond that had been impregnated with holy water. My flesh had scalded and turned black and smelled like a backyard grill on the Fourth of July. Thanks to Satan they were perfect. Not a mark or scar marred my skin, no sign that someone had tried to destroy me.

  But Marten was still talking and I’d missed a bit of what he’d said.

  “There have been far more successful attacks on demons in the past decade than in the several hundred years before,” Marten was finishing up. “As a ceremonial magician, the numbers of demons are important to me, to all of us. The decrease is problematic, and I think there has been an actual campaign to eliminate numbers.”

  “You care because you bind demons,” I said. He shrugged. “I’d prefer to say that we make mutually beneficial agreements,” he said mildly.

  “The bottom line is that there has been a radical drop-off in demon concentration on Earth,” Mephistopheles mused. Trust Meph to pay attention to the important stuff first. “A radical drop-off that coincides with a pattern of attacks. For ten years there have been more and more attacks of the kind that you have been subject to, Lily. But most demons are not as strong as you, and most don’t have direct access to Satan. So a few were eliminated. Younger, unimportant demons. We never noticed, really. We didn’t see a pattern.”

  “Like people don’t notice if the homeless go missing and are being killed,” I mused.

  “Exactly,” Marten said. “Their o
ne biggest mistake so far has been targeting Lily and her friends. They must not have realized that these are Satan’s Chosen.”

  “Or they’re going for bigger game now,” I added. “Or even, they no longer care whether Satan is on to them or not. But that would be an unbelievable level of pride.”

  Mephistopheles smiled thinly. Pride is the premier sin. On the right demon it sat well.

  “We need to analyze the patterns of attacks over the past ten years at least,” I declared. “There has got to be something here. The more we dig, the worse this gets. I mean, I thought this was some fringe group of nuts, and now we’re looking at a major depopulation of demons, and maybe threats to Hell itself.”

  Marten nodded. “Ceremonialists have been talking about how hard it is to even locate demons anymore. There are areas in the world where it’s very hard to find the demonic orders. Only the top ceremonialists have the strength to pull demons from farther away, which means we are less effective and that younger ceremonialists give up.”

  Mephistopheles took the disk out of the laptop. “I’ll keep this,” he said, slipping it back into its cover and onto one of the fussy side tables. “I have already contacted the research department and I expect that I’ll have some raw figures soon enough. I’ll have someone on the analysis immediately and get back to you both. This has been very useful.”

  “Wait a sec, Meph,” I said as he started the concluding tracing of sigils. “What about my idea to have Marten work for Marduk?”

  Mephistopheles nodded. “We will add an addendum to our contract, naturally.”

  “You know what my price is for this. I received your e-mail on that.” Marten waved his hand at the laptop on the coffee table. “This will be direct work, and under Marduk. And will require a fair bit of specialized knowledge.”

  “That required a fair bit of specialized software,” Meph said, nodding at the demographic display. Meph looked at the ceiling for a moment and then sighed. “You know I cannot guarantee what you want. I am willing to make concessions on your current contract, but the other matter has to be approved by Satan Herself.”