Uncanny Kingdom: An Eleven Book Urban Fantasy Collection (Uncanny Kingdom Omnibus 1)

by David Bussell

  ‘So, what have we got?’ I asked, changing the subject.

  ‘This is a weird one,’ replied David, ‘so hang onto your breakfast...’

  He reached down to the slab and peeled back the white plastic sheet to reveal the naked body of a man.

  He’d been found that morning by his teenage daughter. She’d called up to his room to let him know his morning coffee was ready, and he hadn’t answered. Hadn’t arrived downstairs, bleary-eyed, hair a mess, desperate for his morning rocket fuel. So, she’d called again, and again, getting louder and more annoyed each time. Finally, she’d stomped her way up the stairs, thrown his bedroom door open, and yelled, ‘Are you coming down or what?’

  The final word had caught in her throat as she’d flicked on the light and saw her dad, laid out on his back in bed, quite dead, his body completely drained of moisture. It looked like he’d been left out in the desert to mummify. The man was a withered husk.

  ‘Jesus,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied David. ‘This is one for us.’

  ‘This is definitely one for us.’

  ‘Oh, it’s you again,’ came a woman’s voice from behind me. It was Detective Layland, David’s partner. She was a hard-faced young woman who, on the few times I’d met her, had made it very clear she didn’t like me. Just like the others, she put up with me because of the suggestion magic I pushed at her whenever she got near. She thought I was a specialist of some sort. A gopher from some strange department or other that dealt with the weird stuff, an associate of David’s who he’d call in from time to time. If she ever tried to examine the thought too closely—to really subject it to scrutiny—the thought would be pushed out of her mind, like she was trying force two magnets of the same pole together.

  Despite the magic, or perhaps, subconsciously, because of it, Layland didn’t care for my presence one bit.

  ‘Hello, Detective,’ I said, without turning to look at her.

  ‘Another freak show.’

  ‘The body, or Stella here?’ asked David.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

  ‘Any ideas?’ asked Layland, even though her voice made it very clear that it pained her to even ask.

  ‘One or two,’ I replied.

  ‘Care to enlighten me?’

  ‘Not sure of anything, not yet.’

  ‘Right, right. You see, solving this sort of shit, murders and so on, is kind of my job. We like to find killers, and arrest them. One way of doing that is to share facts, opinions, thoughts, hunches.’

  ‘She has a very good point,’ said David.

  ‘As soon as I have something worth saying, I’ll say it.’

  ‘So, never then?’ said Layland.

  David snorted, then took a half step back as I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Hey, come on, that was a solid return of serve.’

  Layland sniffed derisively, then headed off. ‘Fill me in on whatever shit she spouts, I’m gonna go and bang on the neighbour’s doors. You know: police work.’

  David grinned at me. ‘You know, I think she has a crush on you.’

  ‘How about a little respect, David? We are stood over a murder victim.’

  ‘Alright, alright.’

  I ran my eyes over the corpse again; at the leathery skin that looked as though it had been left to dry out in the sun for decades. The wide open eyes, their colour drained away. The mouth cracked apart, stretched in a silent scream. The withered tongue that hung from it, burnt to a crisp like a rasher of overcooked bacon.

  I didn’t like the way my thoughts were turning.

  Because I recognised the signs.

  Yes, there were a few different ways a body might end up in a state like this—and I’d have preferred if one of those ways had turned out to be the actual way—but as I reached out with my senses and probed the corpse for answers, they only came back with bad news.

  ‘I know what creature did this,’ I said.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to be over the moon with the answer?’ replied David.

  ‘Come on. We have to go pay a visit to Anya.’

  ‘There it is. Bollocks.’

  David covered the dessicated corpse and we headed from the morgue and out of the hospital, quickly, before my suggestion spell broke apart.

  4

  Anya and the rest of her family spent most of their time holed up in The Den, the Soho club they owned.

  And fed in.

  ‘You’re sure there’s a connection?’ asked David, warily looking towards the entrance of The Den, its door flanked by Jack and Jake, the two giant, shovel-faced doormen.

  ‘Only one creature I know leaves a body like that,’ I told David. ‘A succubus did this.’

  ‘I thought you said they were under control these days?’

  That was true, or had been when my witches were alive. Since then, who knew? Maybe Anya and her family had decided all bets were off and were starting to step outside of their club to feast.

  The deal between the succubi and the London Coven had been struck to put an end to a no-win war. The witches agreed to leave Anya and her family unchallenged, and in exchange, the succubi had acquiesced to limiting their feeding to the confines of their club. They also promised not to drain any of their clientele to death. They got to take a nice, big gulp, and then their victims walked out, alive and healthy.

  The Den was a no-holds-barred fetish, sex, violence, and whatever else got your engine running club. Your wildest fantasies could come true within the walls of the place, and the succubus family would then feed on all the wild explosions of emotion unleashed. The building lay hidden in plain sight. A place that you didn’t know was there, no matter how many times you walked past it. Not until, that is, you heard a whisper about its existence. About the things you could experience if you went there. And then it sunk its hooks deep and you found yourself walking through its doors, ready to indulge in your most depraved fantasies.

  The succubi family had you then, because there was no way you weren’t going to return again, not after a taste. And even if you were strong minded enough to resist, enough to want to try to get it closed down, it was too bad, they already had you. They knew your darkest recesses, had them recorded for posterity, or blackmail. And if that wasn’t an option? Well, a family member would just pay you a visit as you lay in bed one black night.

  The Den had existed, unchallenged, since before I was created.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘Anya and her family have grown tired of restrictions. Perhaps they think they can kill again, now that it’s just me in charge.’

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ asked David.

  ‘The plan is, we talk to Anya. And, if we have to, we stop the succubi from hurting anybody else.’

  ‘And how exactly do we do that?’

  ‘We’ll think of something.’

  ‘Phew, that’s my worries eased,’ said David. I believe he was being sarcastic.

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘I was being sarcastic by the way.’

  Told you.

  I headed towards The Den, David nipping at my heels. As we approached, a furtive looking man stepped out of the place and pulled his collar high, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

  ‘See you again,’ Jack said to him.

  ‘See you again,’ said Jake.

  ‘No,’ replied the man, ‘I won’t be back.’

  ‘That’s what they all say, ‘int that right, Jake?’

  ‘That’s what they all say, right enough, Jack.’

  The man scurried away. That was the thing about The Den. It wormed its way into your mind. Became an addiction. Once you’d had a taste of it, once you’d experienced the kind of things it offered, it was difficult not to make a return visit.

  ‘Well, well, well; look who it is,’ said Jake.

  ‘Well, I never, look who it is,’ replied Jack.

  ‘I’m not looking for trouble, boys,’ I said, mak
ing sure to draw in some of the surrounding magic, just in case.

  ‘We never look for trouble,’ said Jack.

  ‘Never look for it, do we?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘It always finds us, though.’

  ‘Always knows exactly where we are, does trouble.’

  ‘Exactly where we are.’

  ‘We’re here to talk to Anya,’ squeaked David, then coughed to get his voice back into a more masculine register. ‘Anya. We’re here to ask her a few questions. If that’s okay. Please.’

  ‘It’s the detective, Jake.’

  ‘Look, Jack, the detective.’

  ‘Are you going to show us your badge again?’

  The two slapped at each other, laughing it up.

  ‘No. Not if… you don’t want me to.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, as the two doormen regained control of themselves, ‘Are you going to let us in or do we have to do it the hard way?’

  ‘Ooh!’

  ‘So tough, I’m scared, really, aren’t you, Jake?’

  ‘I am. Very scared indeed.’

  Jake turned and opened the door, ‘In you go, missy. Maybe Anya will tear off one of your arms or something.’

  ‘Or a leg.’

  ‘Could be a leg, could be.’

  We stepped into the club, leaving the two doormen behind, grateful that our little confrontation hadn’t turned into something worse. Those two were a pain to fight head-on.

  ‘Remember,’ I said to David, ‘The spell I placed on you should protect you from the suggestion magic that rolls around this place, but stay close to me anyway.’

  ‘Oh please,’ he replied. ‘I have amazing self-control.’

  ‘Then stop staring at that woman rubbing oil into her four giant breasts.’

  ‘I was just… checking. Surveillance. That’s a police thing.’

  I smiled and made my way towards the second floor of the club, towards Anya’s private office. The seating in The Den was vinyl, wipe clean, the tables and bar metal, and the walls were covered in dark, red velvet. As we walked I tried not to take in too much of what was going on around me in the sweaty, darkened corners.

  ‘There’s no way that’s going to fit in ther—’ David started saying, before a scream and the sound of a big, wet insertion cut him off. ‘Oh, no, in it goes,’ he added, correcting himself. ‘I feel a bit queasy.’

  ‘Good. Better than the alternative.’

  I can’t say I relish the times I have to meet Anya, or any of her family, come to that. She’s strong, all succubi are, but Anya is stronger than most. Her kind might seem friendly, seductive, even lovable, but they can turn in an instant and tear your guts out with one hand. They like to keep you off-balance, wary, as they prowl in front of you, prodding and poking.

  You can never be sure they’re going to let you walk away without a fight, or worse.

  ‘Oh my god,’ said David.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘I think I just saw Todd over there. He’s a desk sergeant I know!’

  ‘Don’t stare,’ I replied. ‘Get your focus back, David, we’ve got work to do.’

  ‘Right, yes, sorry. But I’m never shaking Todd’s hand again. Not after what I’ve just seen him doing with that gibbon.’

  5

  Anya was stretched out on a couch in her office, propped up against the arm as she slowly drank something red and thick from a crystal glass.

  ‘Anya,’ I said, nodding my head in greeting.

  ‘I see you brought your little friend with you again,’ she replied, her voice smooth and playful.

  ‘Hello. Yes. I’m just going to stay behind Stella if that’s okay.’

  ‘Aw, I don’t think he likes me,’ replied Anya, pouting.

  ‘No, no, you’re very nice. Not at all terrifying.’

  Anya placed her glass down and stood, her red, silk dress that hugged her like a second skin sliding down to cover her bare feet.

  ‘Tell me, detective, how can I convince you to visit my jolly little club without the chaperone?’

  ‘Anya,’ I said. ‘Someone’s died.’

  ‘Careless of them,’ she replied, never taking her eyes off David as she seemed to almost glide towards us.

  ‘Do you find me attractive, Detective? I know that you do, I can taste it.’

  I took a step to the side so that David was now hidden fully behind me. ‘I came here to ask questions, not to watch you flirt with my partner.’

  Anya looked at me unblinkingly for several seconds, during which the world seemed to hold its breath. Finally, she smiled and turned from me, heading towards her desk.

  ‘What could you possibly need to ask me about, familiar? And why should I answer? You are not your witches, why should I feel beholden to anything you say?’

  ‘You’re right. I’m not my witches. Not even close. But I am of the London Coven, and that still means something. So please, answer my questions, and I’ll be out of your hair. I promise.’

  Anya settled into her chair like a cat and offered me a dead-eyed smile.

  ‘You know, your masters used to be a lot more fun than you. Such a pity they were torn to pieces.’

  I felt my stomach twist and I took an involuntary step forward, fists clenched. I felt a hand lightly touch my arm.

  ‘We have a job to do, Stella,’ David whispered.

  I controlled my breathing and unclenched my fists, feeling my palms sting from where my nails had dug in.

  ‘That’s a good girl,’ said Anya.

  The truth was, an attack on Anya might have been the last thing I ever did. A familiar going toe-to-toe with a succubus? She could have beaten me into a bag of loose bone shards.

  ‘Okay, if you’re not going to stamp your feet and throw your little fists, could you ask the question you came here to ask? I’m growing tired of your company already.’

  ‘A body was found,’ said David. ‘A dead body, just to be clear. A corpse.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And this,’ I replied, holding up my phone, which displayed a picture of the mummified man’s body.

  ‘Strike you as familiar?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t believe we had ever met, no.’

  I pocketed my phone. ‘Notice the way his corpse looked? He was alive the night previous, then was found like that in the morning. Completely dried out, not a drop of moisture left in his body.’

  ‘Perhaps he had the heating turned up too high.’

  David laughed, the sound catching in his throat as I glared at him.

  ‘Sorry, but, you know, that was kind of funny.’

  ‘Anya, you know what I’m asking.’

  ‘You think that he may have met his end at the hands of a succubus.’

  I nodded.

  ‘You are treading on thin ice, familiar. If I were you I’d choose my next words very carefully.’

  ‘We’re not accusing anyone here,’ said David. ‘Just a few friendly questions. Standard, you know, police stuff.’

  ‘Oh, I think your partner here is very much accusing my family of something, is that not so, Stella? Do you believe myself and my sisters to be guilty of the poor man’s untimely demise?

  ‘You’ve seen the picture. And I’ve seen the body up close.’

  Anya stood and glided towards me. ‘I am the head of the succubus family of London, and whether your witches are dead or alive, a pact was made. I do not break my promises. My sisters do not break their promises. We agreed to feed within these walls and within these walls alone, and never to the point of a subject’s death. All who enter, all who we feed upon, walk out of this place alive.’

  I studied her face, looking for a tell, but came up with nothing. She seemed to be telling the truth.

  ‘Could another succubus be out there?’ asked David. ‘One who isn’t in your family?’

  ‘No. We would know. I would know.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘We always know.’

  As Anya spoke her eyes n
ever left me. A blink and her eyes were black. She raised a hand, now more like a claw, and ran one rough, long, sharp finger across my cheek.

  ‘Maybe’ I replied, ‘someone in your family has a got a little tired of living by the rules and wanted to fully embrace their nature. To really sate their appetite.’

  Anya’s nail stopped tracing my jaw. Instead, the point began to press against my flesh. The pressure began to increase, ever so slightly, with each passing heartbeat; sooner or later she was going to break the skin. Finally, I blinked and jerked my head away.

  Anya sneered and turned from me.

  ‘When was the last time you had a, well, a full feed?’ asked David.

  ‘Too long,’ she replied, almost wistfully it seemed. ‘We were at war with the London Coven, and they fought with all they had to deny us our feeding rights. The last time I drained someone to death was one evening almost ninety years ago. She was a young thing, perhaps twenty, with lily white skin that had never known the touch of a man. I sat astride her and drank her down. Every last emotion, every desire and fury. All of it, until her perfect skin puckered. The truce was called the next day, after both sides had finally realised we’d fought to a standstill. I am a monster of my word, and neither I nor my sisters have fed fully since, no matter how much our stomachs beg us to.’

  ‘It must be, you know, difficult,’ said David. ‘I mean, I used to love a nice ciggy, puffed those things all day every day since the age of fifteen, only gave up a year ago. Went on the patches, the gum, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t scratch that itch in the same way. I still find myself buying a pack every couple of months, just so I can smoke a single cig before chucking the rest out.’

  Anya smiled, ‘He’s smarter than he looks, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, thanks. I think?’

  ‘It is difficult, but we are not human. We are not so weak. We can and do restrain ourselves. No occasional cigarette just to appease the itch.’

  I held up my phone again, the picture of the man’s corpse still on display. ’You’re sure of that?’

  Anya’s eyes snapped black again for a second before she caught herself and her composure returned.