Succubus Takes Manhattan

by Nina Harper

  “I pay for a building with a doorman for that very reason,” I chided him. “Besides, I could smell the burritos. It had to be you.”

  He shook his head as he unpacked the food. I got out plates and utensils while he set cartons on the bag, which he’d flattened over the wooden surface of my coffee table. I was pleased to see his care for my things. I hated it when people just threw food on the good teak without trivets. I liked that table.

  He put a foil-wrapped burrito on one of my plates and handed it to me. I peeled off the aluminum cover to find a bit of comfort. I didn’t really want to talk to Nathan and I wanted to talk to him too much. In spite of that, I ate my burrito in silence and then started in on the guac and chips.

  “I have found out a few things,” he started when he put his empty plate down. “First, you were right about checking on Balducci. He isn’t a cop. I did some rather interesting Web searches on him and found out that he’s connected to some, well, not precisely standard banks in the Caribbean. I also checked out your friend Marten. Did you ever even Google him?”

  I shook my head. I knew I should have, but really, it was a vacation thing. And, of course, Meph had vouched for him.

  “Well, I don’t know what he told you he does,” Nathan started and his voice had a bit of an edge.

  “He told me he’s an accountant,” I answered. “And I know he’s a magician. He got some kind of great deal out of Hell. And how did you know his name or what to search on anyway?”

  Nathan shrugged. “Well, he didn’t tell you the truth. He’s with Interpol.”

  “What?” I think my neighbors two floors down heard my shriek. “Are you sure? Maybe it’s someone else; it could be someone else.”

  Nathan shook his head. “I checked. And there’s a picture. He’s Interpol. Okay, you couldn’t have gotten that from Google. I had to use the firm’s credentials to check international law enforcement sites. You can figure out what he’s doing in this mess later. Back to Balducci. He does own the apartment, but the down payment was made by his uncle.”

  I shrugged. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  Nathan sat back in the easy chair and closed his eyes in something close to a wince. “I’m trying to explain something, Lily. Steve Balducci was not just Branford’s pawn. I think Branford might be under the architect, whose wife is a leading contributor to some rather dubious conservative causes. So they’re in it up to their necks.”

  “But that doesn’t tell us where Raven is,” I protested feebly. To cover my uneasiness I scraped the last morsel of guac out of the cup with my finger. I’d already demolished the chips.

  “No, but it gives us some possibilities,” Nathan said briskly. “I’ve got a list of other properties owned by the Balduccis: Steve, Franco, and Paola. There are two in Brooklyn and a townhouse in Hoboken. And two more apartments in Manhattan. So that’s where we start.”

  “What about Branford?” I asked.

  Nathan shook his head. “Nothing for Branford. I think he’s small-time, being manipulated by Balducci and family, if you will.”

  And then my thoughts started to come together. It was like when I visualized what an editor wanted for a shoot, the whole thing coming together effortlessly in my mind. I opened my mouth and closed it again, because the rest of the story was none of Nathan’s business.

  No, this was the business of Hell. And Balducci. Maybe he was in charge and Branford was just their figurehead. Maybe the older people were the real organizers and Steve was just his uncle’s gofer. That made more sense. There hadn’t been any whiff of magic around Steve, nothing that smelled of demon. And I hadn’t gotten close enough to the uncle and aunt to tell.

  I was suddenly anxious to talk to Desi, to discover what she might know about the family of demon hunters in her very brief acquaintance.

  And all the while I was aware of the clock running, of Raven lost somewhere, probably imprisoned, likely tortured. I hadn’t liked the girl at first and feeling guilty over what she was possibly enduring didn’t endear her to me further.

  I couldn’t get Raven out of my mind, in those awful boots and my cute Betsey Johnson top, on the rack or being branded with red-hot pokers. She would have to pay Admin a hideous amount to have her skin restored—unless Satan would take care of her as She had cared for me. Or maybe I should pay for her? That was dangerously close to altruism for a demon, but the girl was suffering in my place. It was the least I could do.

  “So what do you think?” Nathan was asking. I realized I hadn’t heard anything he’d said in the past two minutes, and he must have noticed. “I said, Lily, I think we should investigate this location. It’s one of the Balducci-owned properties and was listed as the address of the Knight Defenders when we first discovered their activities. Branford is listed as renting an apartment there, but the entire building is owned by Aunt Paola. Do you want to bet that Branford isn’t paying any rent?”

  “Why didn’t we go there in the first place?” I asked, irritated. We’d waited so long, Raven had suffered for hours because he hadn’t told me about this lead immediately.

  “I’ve had a listening station on the window,” he told me. “Ever since we failed at the Gramercy Park location. And I haven’t picked up anything to indicate that Raven is being held there. No screams, no torture, nothing. So it may be another false lead.”

  I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. The mascara smeared—it always smears—but I didn’t care. “If you’ve had surveillance then let’s not waste our time. I think we should take this real estate business to Meph immediately and see what he says.”

  “That’s your great idea?” Nathan seemed wounded.

  “I’m out of ideas,” I admitted. “I used up my last one on tracking Raven in the first place, and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t work again. They would shield better now that they know we’re using ritual.”

  “Aren’t there ways to break that?” Nathan asked very unhelpfully.

  “I’m calling in Meph. We need to consult with him and you need to give him all the information you’ve given me,” I said decisively, as if I were in charge of the situation and not just another succubus dear to Satan’s heart but not generally given executive powers.

  And then I pulled out my Treo and hit speed dial (number seven) and Meph picked up on the second ring. By the time I hit End there was the scent of sulfur and a dapper, urbane Mephistopheles stepped out of the stinking yellow cloud.

  “What happened to Raven? You botched the whole scheme,” Meph shot at me like a drill sergeant in boot camp.

  “I don’t know,” I pleaded. “You never told me about your plan. I was trying to rescue her, and then when I got into the triangle she disappeared. Just flat-out disappeared. I don’t know how they got her or who made the exchange. I’ve already tried to rescue her once and I’m ready to try right now as soon as I change my shoes. But you have to know how to find her. You have to.”

  Meph softened only slightly at the sight of my distress. “We don’t have time for this,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get started.”

  Nathan briefed Meph on all that we’d discussed, and Meph listened closely. “She could be anywhere,” he said finally. “That snatch was magical, as if the entire procedure was to find you . . .”

  “But why? Why me? I’m not any more use than any other of the Chosen,” I demanded. This was all too much and I wanted it all to stop. How come things like this didn’t happen to Eros?

  “You’re linked to her through the glamour,” Meph said. “We need to trace where she was taken. The situation you describe, where she disappeared just as you arrived, had to be a trap. Set up in advance.”

  “But it didn’t work—I got out and they all ran,” I protested feebly.

  Meph shook his head. “They weren’t counting on the human coming along with you. They were prepared for a magical attack but they didn’t prepare for a living person with a gun who couldn’t be barred with their demon barricade. Raven could well not be on this cont
inent. Even on this plane of existence. They could be one place and holding her in another. In fact, that is exactly what I would do if I had set up the trap. Which means that the men who were there are disposable. There is a larger conspiracy with branches elsewhere. Branford and his crew are pawns, foot soldiers. Not worth contemplating or following. We need to find Raven and let these peons go.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Maybe then they’ll lead us to the demon who is tipping them off.”

  And suddenly I had an idea so stunningly simple (and ridiculous) that I shrieked. “Magic! Demon magic. Summoning,” I yelped as if the idea had bitten me. “We need a real magician, Meph, a human who knows how to command demons. One who we can trust, who’s on our side.”

  “I expect you’re referring to Marten,” the senior demon said dryly.

  “He would do,” I agreed. “But if you’ve got one closer, then let’s go with convenience.”

  Mephistopheles shook his head. “None that I would trust, not on this side of the Atlantic.”

  “What’s going on?” Nathan interrupted. “What is this great idea?”

  “The thing is, I can’t do it myself,” I admitted. “I know a reasonable bit about ceremonial magic, but a demon cannot do a demon summoning. It takes a human to do that, and I think that was the original nature of the trap. They had Raven in a summoning and that’s how she was snatched out of the triangle of salt. What we need is a human magician to summon her! It’s all so obvious I don’t know why we didn’t think of it as soon as Vincent was taken.”

  “Because if we had immediately summoned Vincent back, we wouldn’t have been able to set any tracers on this faction. I believe they are tied in with the demon who is undermining Hell and skimming from the Treasury, because of some information Azoked ran down in the Akashic. The way their records are obscured reeks of high demon tampering. Given that, it was more important that we got a tag on them than that we save any younger demon from some discomfort. Which is the major reason we wanted to use a substitute and not you, Lily.” Meph’s face grew just the tiniest bit tender. “Satan would not hear of you being used to tag the perps, as it were.”

  I blinked. I hadn’t known, hadn’t realized exactly how serious Meph was about tracking down whoever was after us.

  “I still don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Nathan said, and I thought I detected a creeping note of whine in his tone.

  So before I explained I went to the kitchen and started another pot of coffee, my best Blue Mountain blend, hoping it would go a good way toward mollifying all the frayed tempers. Then I dug in the back of the cupboard and found a bag of Pepperidge Farm Tahoe cookies, which hadn’t been high enough on Azoked’s list of preferred snacks to merit annihilation.

  The guys took their coffees and helped themselves to cookies with enthusiasm. Meph had already placed a call on his cell phone and had wandered out of the living room and into the back hall. I didn’t have to guess who was being awakened in the middle of the night in Paradise.

  “It goes like this,” I started to tell Nathan. “There are particular rituals for magically summoning demons by humans who are willing to barter their souls. This is standard economy down below. The rituals are difficult and they take a lot of study and skill to pull off. But the important thing here is that a demon can’t do it. We don’t have souls to barter, so the summoning won’t hold. Even a demon who was a top ceremonialist in life couldn’t pull it off after joining the ranks. The soul is a crucial ingredient.”

  “Okay, I get it, one human magician with a soul,” Nathan sounded like a petulant child. And he had sprawled over the sofa, taking up as much space as possible. Juvenile, I thought. But also vaguely appealing. He had been hurt by all of this, I saw, and he wanted to do something. He wanted me to admire him. I think that maybe he even wanted to save me. And he hated himself for wanting that. He still didn’t get it, still couldn’t cope with the demon/human divide between us.

  “Yeah. A magician with a soul. With the right rituals and preparation and talent an excellent human magician can summon any demon from the Hierarchy. Who must show, by order of On High. It’s one of the bedrock rules of how demons can interact with humanity. And how we must interact with magicians. And there is nothing, nothing whatsoever, that can interfere. So you get the right kind of magician with the right talents and all, and he or she can summon anyone in the Hierarchy. Anyone at all.”

  That got his attention. “Anyone? What about what you call them—ummm, Upstairs?”

  I nodded. “It’s called Enochian and it’s the hardest form of magic to learn. But that’s angelic summoning and that’s not necessary here. Although, for your information, demons are in the ranks of angelic orders. Yeah, there’s a divide, but we also serve On High, just so you know. This Satan versus God thing, took humans to think that one up.”

  But he wasn’t really listening to that bit.

  “So if they wanted you, why couldn’t Branford have just summoned you?”

  I heard Meph’s voice change in the hallway. He was speaking very distinctly, as if to voice recognition software.

  I decided to answer Nathan’s question. There was obviously time. “Because the magician who does the summoning has got to be ready and willing to barter, to give up some of his or her soul. Those fanatics aren’t.”

  “But your boyfriend Marten can.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I protested. Well, maybe, I thought, but it wasn’t any of Nathan’s business. “But yeah, he’s the right kind of magician.”

  “And I couldn’t?” Nathan asked.

  And here I saw the heart of the matter. Nathan was jealous. Nathan couldn’t stand the idea that Marten, or anyone, could do something that he couldn’t. Especially when that something concerned me.

  I would have been gratified if I hadn’t felt so confused and tired and beaten down. I had wanted Nathan. He was the one who had walked away—and now he was the one complaining.

  “You couldn’t on two counts.” I decided to enlighten him. “First, ceremonial magic takes years of study and preparation. I just hope that Marten is in condition to do a ritual like this—it can take days of fasting before they even start. And there are a series of purification rituals that they have to perform before they can actually do the summoning. I guess one thing Meph needs to find out is whether Marten is in a state of ritual readiness, so to speak. If not, it could take a week or more for him to be fully prepared.

  “The second reason is that you don’t want a demon around. You’ve rejected me and you didn’t even have to barter or summon me. You have to be willing—no, eager—to deal with Hell to do a summoning. You might think you can remain in control, but every serious ceremonialist knows that it’s really a negotiation.”

  He got up from the sofa and turned away from me, gazing out the window into the deep night. “Intent is that important? You can tell?”

  I sighed. “Intent is everything. Without trained, single-minded, focused intent there is no magic,” I said, feeling like I was playing instructor in a fourth-level demons’ initiatory class. I guessed that Raven and Vincent, being third-level, hadn’t made it quite this far yet. Or maybe they had. I’d heard there had been some tweaks in the curriculum since I’d been trained.

  “We’re booked on the eight a.m. flight,” Meph announced. I hadn’t heard him come in and I started a bit.

  “What?” Nathan stuttered, covering the question for me.

  “The eight a.m. to Miami. Where we connect to Aruba. You do have your passport with you?” Meph cocked an eyebrow at Nathan.

  “Wait a minute,” I protested. “I can’t go to Aruba again. I’ll lose my job. And I presume Marten can do the ritual, but he doesn’t need us.”

  “No,” Meph said. “He doesn’t. But he would like you there and Raven will need us once we pull her through. So will Marten very likely, though he didn’t say anything about it. This isn’t going to be easy on anyone.”

  Much as I wanted to see Marten again, this wa
s too much. I was dead exhausted to the bone and had my heart broken, I owed Satan on deliveries, and I didn’t know who I was dating, or if I was dating. My skin was sallow and I looked drawn, and I really didn’t want Marten to see me like that. On top of that, I’d already lost too many days at work. This was just too much.

  Meph’s phone rang. He answered, bowed his head, and handed it to me.

  Satan was on the line.

  chapter

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Lily, dear,” She purred. “Why don’t you catch a cab right now? There’ll be one waiting when you get downstairs. You can leave the men to finish up the details. Meph will pack for you—he’s very good with clothes. You come down and meet me in the bar at the Pierre.”

  There is only one answer ever for Satan, and I gave it. “Yes, Satan. Thank you, Satan.” Then I handed the phone back to Meph as if it were hot.

  “Gotta run,” I said. I was glad I hadn’t changed from work. The Prada tweed suit in olive and raspberry would be perfect at the Pierre. My olive Manolos from two seasons ago lay in the three square feet that pretended to be an entry hall. I stepped into them and grabbed a coat and left.

  The elevator had hit the second floor when I realized that neither Nathan nor Meph had keys and couldn’t lock up. I panicked and then forced the terror back down. Vincent would be vigilant. And I was responding to Satan’s summoning. Surely no harm would come to me, or my apartment, because I had obeyed immediately. So immediately that I hadn’t even thought to give one of the guys the spare key.

  Vincent had a taxi ready, motor running and door open, as soon as I hit the lobby. I dashed past the security desk and ducked into the cab. “Lock my apartment up when Meph leaves, okay?” I asked him. He nodded once, sharply.

  There was no traffic and the lights were green all the way, and the cabbie drove like we were in his NASCAR fantasy life. Less than ten minutes after leaving my building I was in front of the elegant cream and gold façade of one of the most famous hotels in New York. John F. Kennedy had stayed here. Ambassadors and foreign dignitaries and prima ballerinas from Russia and French fashion designers had stayed here. I called the girls. I got Sybil’s cell first. “Where are you?” she asked. “We’re all at Eros’s waiting.”