Devil's Taunt and Other Stories

by Percival Constantine

  Karen hefted the book in her hands. It had a good deal of weight and girth to it, about the size of a dictionary or encyclopedia. The title on the cover had faded over time. She flipped through the weathered pages and saw that the book was written in some language she had never seen before.

  She looked to the shelves adjacent to the bench. Numerous cans were stored there, and she took a large one labeled PAINT THINNER, pouring the contents over the book. Karen dug in her pockets and found a small plastic lighter. She sparked it and touched the tip of the flame to the edge of the book and it ignited the thinner, bursting into flames. Karen could have sworn that she heard a chorus of screams as the book burned.

  * * *

  Luther gripped a zombie by its head, pushing his thumbs through the eye sockets and deep into the brain. Blood oozed around his fingers and the zombie still struggled for a few moments before it stopped. A few other zombies inched toward Luther, but suddenly collapsed and fell to the ground one by one until only the occult investigator and Tom Pearson were left standing.

  Pearson stepped out from behind the barn door, staring at the motionless corpses. He nudged a few with his foot. “Come on, get up! Why are you just lying there? Get up!”

  Luther bent down and retrieved his dagger. He twirled it between his fingers and came up behind Pearson. The farmer turned and Luther wrapped his fingers around Pearson’s throat, lifting him above the ground and holding the dagger to his gut.

  “This was my favorite suit. You got any idea what it costs to get zombie blood out of this fabric?”

  “Go ahead…just kill me…” Pearson’s eyes began to tear.

  Luther huffed. “Is this the part where you make a tearful apology?”

  “My family died in a car crash. I tried to move on, but couldn’t live without them! I just wanted us to be together!”

  “All I care about is where you got the book.”

  “Some old bookstore in town! Guy there said it could help me! Told me where in the book I could find the means to bring back my family!”

  “And?”

  Pearson coughed from the pressure on his windpipe. He struggled to get the words out. “They came back…like that… An’ I needed to feed ‘em, but they only wanted one thing. So I found drifters, drunks, degenerates. Brought ‘em to Jeannie and Carl. But then afterwards, they came back, too! So I started puttin’ ‘em in the barn.”

  Luther was about to ask him more about the shop and the man who sold him the grimoire when a shot rang out. Pearson’s body went limp, a bullet entry wound in his forehead. Luther dropped the body and turned.

  Karen stood on the porch, the barrel of Sam’s Remington still smoking.

  * * *

  After leaving the Pearson farm, Luther and Karen retrieved the Camaro and Luther drove her into town, pulling up to the house she shared with her grandmother. After she closed the door, Luther called out to her through the open window.

  “Might be a good idea for you and your grandmother to head back to Springfield,” he said. “The evidence at the farm will show the cops that Pearson was a psychopath, but I’ve got a feeling that sheriff will still make things difficult for you.”

  Karen nodded. “I just wonder how someone could get so twisted like that. From those pictures, Pearson looked like just a normal guy.”

  “You’d be surprised what a normal guy is capable of once he’s lost everything,” said Luther.

  “Guess so. Thank you for all your help, Mr. Cross.”

  Luther gave her a parting nod and she went inside the house. He shifted into drive, heading toward the on-ramp. Along the path, he saw an empty storefront with a FOR RENT sign in the dust covered window. Luther slammed on the brake when he saw the previous tenant’s sign—RARE BOOKS. The shop looked empty for some time but there was a number on the rent sign. Luther took out his cell phone and quickly dialed it.

  “Yes, I’m inquiring about the storefront on Lincoln. I was just curious, the previous tenant—when did they leave?”

  He listened to the answer. “I see. No, thank you, that’s all. Goodbye.” Luther ended the call and stared back at the storefront. The tenant had only been in business for about a month or two before packing up and abandoning the place practically overnight.

  Bloodlust

  A Luther Cross Short Story

  Wayne Cooper stepped off the elevator and walked through the corridor on the fourteenth floor of the Trump International Hotel and Tower. There was commotion around the open room door, with POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape stretched from frame to frame. Uniformed officers were speaking to guests and getting their statements. When Cooper approached the door, one of the officers blocked his way in.

  “This is a crime scene, sir.”

  Wayne reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and held out his identification. The officer gave a nod and backed away. “Sorry about that, Detective.”

  “No problem, just doing your job.” Wayne ducked over the crime scene tape and entered the room. The foyer extended a good deal inside with a small kitchen area on the right and the bathroom to the left. Just past that was the studio area, where crime scene photographers stood over the body and CSI did their work, examining the room.

  A uniformed officer took notice of Wayne and stood to meet him. “Detective Cooper.”

  “What’ve we got?” asked Wayne.

  “One victim. Woman, early twenties.”

  Wayne stepped closer, careful not to step on the blood-soaked carpet. He saw the woman wore a black neglige and had pale skin. Wayne’s blue eyes scanned the area around her body. “Where’s her goddamn head?”

  “On the other side of the bed.” The officer pointed.

  A CSI was on the ground between the bed and the small loveseats facing the window, bent over. Wayne approached him and the CSI looked over his shoulder. He stood and allowed Wayne to take a look, handing him a pair of latex gloves. Wayne pulled the gloves on and saw the woman’s decapitated head, her green eyes staring into nothing. She had long, red hair that was now caked with the blood around her gaping neck.

  “What do we know about her?” asked Wayne.

  “No photo ID. Had a credit card with the name Nina Bailey on it.”

  Wayne gently touched the neck wound, examining how clean it was. As he turned the head, he noticed there was a carving on her forehead—a cross.

  “Suggests a religiously-motivated killing,” said the CSI, pointing at the mark.

  “What would I do without you?” Wayne turned the head back on the cheek and continued to examine it. There was something else he noticed out of the ordinary in her mouth, which was open just a bit. Wayne pulled her upper lip open and saw a pointed fang. He turned the head and saw another fang on the opposite side.

  “Excuse me! Excuse me!”

  Wayne pulled the lip down and stood at the sound of the new voice. The guard outside the door argued with someone who clearly wanted to get in. Wayne approached, stripping the gloves off. When he got to the foyer, he saw a man of about forty with short, dark hair and a mustache shouting at the guard.

  “Is there a problem here?” asked Wayne.

  “He wants to get into the room, sir,” said the guard.

  Wayne fixed his cold stare on the man. “And you are?”

  “Thomas Sangres, I’m the general manager.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Sangres, but this room is a crime scene,” said Wayne.

  “I’m in charge of this hotel, I have a right to be in there!” said Sangres.

  Wayne looked down, pausing for a moment to stop himself from socking the manager. “No, you don’t. We can’t risk contamination of the scene. We would appreciate your assistance, though. Who was this room rented out to?”

  “Edward Van Sloan,” said Sangres.

  “And Van Sloan reserved a room for two?”

  “No, just one.”

  Wayne thought of Nina’s outfit. “Mr. Sangres, does your hotel provide any…” he cleared his throat, “…entertainment?”
r />   Sangres stiffened. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of an…exotic nature.”

  “Absolutely not! This is a respectable establishment—”

  “Of course, just consider the name on the building…” muttered Wayne.

  “I beg your pardon!”

  Wayne took a breath. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Sangres. You’re going to go back to your office and allow these officers to complete their work. We will contact you once we’re finished. Is that understood?”

  “I won’t allow you to disrupt the operation of—”

  “If you don’t go back to your office and sit quietly, then I’ll have this fine young man right here put you in handcuffs and escort you back to your office,” said Wayne. “Parading you through the lobby. In front of all your employees and guests.”

  Sangres grunted with a frown then turned on his heel and marched towards the elevator. Both Wayne and the guard rolled their eyes. “Prick,” said the guard.

  “Tell me about it.” Wayne took his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll be right back, gotta make a call.”

  Wayne ducked under the tape and walked down the hall, searching through his phone’s directory. Once he found the name he was looking for, he glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was around and hit the CALL button. When he heard the baritone voice on the other end of the line, he spoke almost in a whisper.

  “It’s me. I think I’ve got something you’d be interested in.”

  Once the response came, Wayne had to struggle to keep his voice carefully controlled. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re busy, but this is important. It’s…” Wayne sighed and rubbed his forehead, right near where his short blond hair had begun to recede. “Well, it’s a weird one. And looks like it’s got your name on it, Luther.”

  * * *

  Luther Cross entered the morgue, wearing a black suit with red tie and a trench coat over it all. Once he saw Wayne, he offered out his hand. “Good to see you again, Detective.”

  “You too,” said Wayne.

  Another man stood in room with them, smaller than both Wayne and Luther and bald with glasses.

  “This is Ward, the coroner,” said Wayne. “Ward, Luther Cross here’s a specialist of sorts. He’s here to consult on the case.”

  “Very well,” said Ward. “Oh, and you can take off your sunglasses, Mr. Cross.”

  “No thanks, I’m okay,” said Luther.

  “Suit yourself.” Ward shrugged and moved away from Luther. Behind where he stood, Luther saw the headless body of Nina Bailey lying on a gurney. “Nina Bailey, caucasian, approximately twenty-two years of age. Cause of death, not too hard to determine.” He pointed to the severed head lying at one end of the gurney. “Looks like it was a clean cut. No sawing, no starting and stopping, just—” He clicked his tongue loudly. “Off with her head.”

  “Must’ve used a big blade then,” said Luther.

  “Exactly, probably a machete. Had to have been a strong guy, too.” Ward pointed to the cross on her forehead. “Looks like he also carved this symbol. Probably after he decapitated her.”

  “I see.” Luther exchanged a glance with Wayne.

  “Hey Ward, would you mind giving us a few minutes?” asked the detective.

  “Sure, just don’t steal anything,” said Ward.

  “Never let me have any fun,” said Wayne. Ward chuckled and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “This better be good, Coop. I could be faking an exorcism for some rich asshole’s mistress right now.” Luther removed his sunglasses and slid them into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He looked up at the detective with his bright red eyes. “Show me.”

  Wayne pulled back Nina’s upper lips to reveal her fangs. Luther bent down for a closer look and stood back up. “Yup, vampire.”

  “That’s what I thought. Aren’t they supposed to turn to ash or something after they die?”

  “You’ve been watching too many movies, vampires leave behind bodies just like everyone else.” said Luther. “Did Ward see the fangs?”

  “Yeah, just said they seemed like abnormally large canines,” said Wayne.

  “Of course he did. Lot of people will delude themselves about what’s really out there,” said Luther. “What do you have on the suspect?”

  “Not a whole lot.” Wayne reached into his jacket and took out a small notebook. He flipped through a few pages until he found the ones relating to this case. “It happened at the Trump Tower, room was rented out to an Edward Van Sloan. Paid in cash, no credit card on file. Haven’t turned up any hits on the name yet. I’ve got guys reviewing the hotel’s security footage, seeing if we can get an image of the guy and run it through facial recognition.”

  “Hold on,” said Luther. “You said the name he used was Edward Van Sloan?”

  Wayne double-checked the name in his notes. “Yeah, that’s right.” He glanced up at Luther. “Why, that name mean something to you?”

  “Edward Van Sloan played Van Helsing in the original Dracula.”

  “Really?” asked Wayne. “Never took you for a film buff.”

  “I’m not, caught a showing of it at the Music Box about a year ago. Guy who invited me wouldn’t shut up about all the trivia he knew.” Luther’s invite came from Whitey, the former manager of the famous Chicago movie theater. After his death, Whitey couldn’t bear to leave and began haunting the place. “Tell me about the girl.”

  “Not a whole lot to tell. Got her name off a credit card but she didn’t have any photo ID. Van Sloan, or whoever he really is, checked in alone.”

  “Meaning he met her after, maybe picked her up somewhere.”

  “Or he called for her,” said Wayne. “So a dead vampire. What’s this mean?”

  “How many people do you know who keep a machete in their travel bag?” asked Luther. “This was someone who knew what he was doing. Gotta be a vampire hunter.”

  “So case closed then, right? Vampire hunters, they do what you do. They’re good guys.”

  “Not always.” Luther took a metal cigar case from his pocket. He placed it between his lips and lit it with a gold-plated Zippo. After a few puffs, he pointed at the cross. “He carved that after he chopped off her head. Means it wasn’t something he did as a defensive measure. So it probably means he’s a fundamentalist.” He took another puff on the cigar. “What about the room? Any signs of a struggle?”

  Wayne shook his head.

  “Must’ve made it quick then. Vampires are pretty strong and they get real nasty when threatened,” said Luther. “My guess is he was prepared for her. She walked in and before she knew it, he used the machete on her.”

  “I know, but…” Wayne sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Look, I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around why we should give a shit. I mean she was a vampire. Shouldn’t we be buying this guy a drink?”

  “You know how there are some humans who are vicious, soulless killers?”

  “Sure.”

  “Doesn’t make you think all humans are like that, does it?”

  “Of course not, but we’re talking about monsters here.”

  Luther rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a racist, Wayne, you’re better than that. Look at me, I’m half-demon, but it doesn’t make me a bad guy.”

  “Well…” Wayne folded his arms over his chest and smirked. “Jury’s still out on that.”

  “Blow me,” said Luther. “Point I’m making is vampires aren’t that different from humans. Yeah, they can’t stand direct sunlight, they eat their meat rare and—probably their worst offense—they can’t stand Italian food. Sure, if you find yourself face to face with a vampire who hasn’t fed in some time, it’d be in your best interests to run. But you could say the same of a starving human. Vampires can control their bloodlust, and a lot of them do.”

  “So you think this hunter’s the real threat then,” said Wayne.

  “I’ve run across a few hunters in my time. Most of them have been borderli
ne psychopaths.” Luther took another puff on his cigar and held it out to Wayne. “Want a hit?”

  “Been on the wagon for six months now. Gloria’s already going to pitch a fit when she smells your cigar on me, better not make it worse.”

  “Fair enough,” said Luther.

  “What now?”

  “Way I see it, there are two possibilities. Either he targeted Nina specifically, in which case he probably skipped town right after he left the hotel. Or he’s setting up shop and planning to take out several vamps.” said Luther. “So first thing we have to do is find out more about the girl. Did you get any other leads? Cell phone maybe?”

  “Nope. But if you’re looking for a lead, the hotel’s run by a smarmy little shit of a manager. He seemed kinda cagey when I asked him if they help connect escorts with guests. He’s not talking a whole lot.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” said Luther. “He’ll talk to me.”

  * * *

  Luther and Wayne entered the lobby of the Trump Tower, marching straight to the front desk. The clerk at the desk was a young man in his mid twenties with blond hair. He smiled broadly when they approached. “Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to the Trump International Hotel and Tower, how can I help you today?”

  “We’re here to speak to Edward Sangres,” said Wayne.

  The clerk frowned for a brief second but the smile came right back. “I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Sangres is unavailable at the mo—”

  Wayne held up his badge. “Tell Mr. Sangres that Detective Cooper is here to ask him a few additional questions. We can either speak in private in his office or I can start shouting my questions about the dead hooker here in the lobby.”

  The clerk’s smile showed no signs of returning. He took several deep breaths and once he felt he was sufficiently composed, he picked up the phone behind the desk and dialed an extension. “Mr. Sangres, this is Jeff at the front desk. There’s a…” Jeff lowered his voice when he said the next words. “Detective Cooper here to see you. It’s about the…incident.”