Seducing Two Serial Killers

by Hutchins, Hollie

Twenty minutes later, I'm at Tarren's place. Not his house – but somewhere that instantly gives less than admirable vibes. It might be due to the strip poles I can clearly see in the main bar room. The fact there's stairs curving upwards, worn down by the many feet of those who went into rooms to pay for the oldest profession in the world.

  Tarren's supposed to be a small time criminal (according to Richard), but he doesn't give that vibe. I expect a rough Mafioso vibe, sitting there with a cigar clenched in teeth, laughing himself sick as the poor wretches he's trafficked stare morosely out from their rooms, littered with needle puncture marks and jaundiced skin.

  If anything, judging by the quality of the escorts that give me curious looks as I walk into the bar room, they look well kept. Willing to be here.

  Tarren told me I could ask them questions. Word gets around. Maybe someone's heard something about the person I'm looking for. Easy place to start – with the barwoman. She's examining me now, and I see the hint of a feral glint in her eyes, and a tattoo on her left index finger. A literal fox woman.

  I order a drink, all smiles, and when she inquires if there's anything else she can do for me, I smack my lips, considering. Seeing the advert before I came here has given me an idea. Along with the fact that Richard's been seeking his brother. A bad one, probably, but better than just outright asking if anyone has seen the senator's daughter. I imagine I'll get the musical sound of jaws locking themselves shut.

  “I'll be honest. Tarren let me come here to ask you guys some questions,” I say, being sure to draw in the attention of two more women, one man, all sitting around the bar. My heart's stuttering nervously, but at least it's not showing on the outside. “I'm chasing after my idiot sister. She's looking for a way to be entered into the Honor Hunt. She didn't get the position, so we all thought she'd come back, you know? But she's vanished.”

  The fox woman wrinkles her pointed nose, amber eyes curious. “Sister, huh?” Suspicion, of course. I wonder if I'm not the only person to come with a cock and bull story regarding the senator's daughter. It's not like no one else is searching for her as well. Even the state shifter authorities have detectives trying to find her.

  “It's not unusual,” the man says, slouched between two women who are hotter than they have any right to be, “for humans to come and seek other ways of getting into the Honor Hunt. Even if they fail.”

  I wait for him to elaborate, but he says nothing, and I'm forced to suppress irritation, before turning back to the fox lady. Roberta on her badge. Okay, Roberta.

  “Is it possible for there to be other Honor Hunts, aside from the main one?”

  They're all obviously considering just how much to tell an outsider at all.

  “Who knows,” Roberta says, closing up. The others wear similar flinty expressions.

  “Well then,” I say, in a huff of irritation. Also trying to convey sadness, though I don't think I have the best acting skills around, “What am I supposed to do then? She won't answer her phone. I don't know where she's gone, because she's not in the Honor Hunt. Tarren thought you'd be more useful than this.”

  Bait. Enough for them to swallow whole.

  “One might say,” Roberta hissed, now looking from side to side, though she only had her fellow shifter and work humans to worry about, “that there are... certain... mini Hunts that go on. Places for people to gamble. To risk themselves for less of a prize, but still more than they otherwise ever would have.”

  A prickle of anxiety goes up my spine. Like dog fighting pits. This is more like the lead I'm looking for. “There's a lot of underground things, then?”

  “Of course.” Roberta mimes spitting. “Too many. Lots of fox holes to bolt in. Tarren's a good man. He has a code of honor.”

  “I can believe it.” I glance around. “This seems more like a professional escort service than, forgive me in saying this, a seedy brothel.”

  Roberta flicks back her ginger hair. It's a nicer shade than mine. She's proud. Swelling with pride, even. “We run a good, clean service here. Make sure anyone aiming to make money for their first time gets talked about it, matched up with a client with no history of abuse. Everyone's here 'cos they wanna.”

  More nods. Maybe not true for all of them, but I can see that I won't be penetrating this little halo they have about their boss. Not that I'm particularly complaining about their boss or anything. Oh hell no. I doubt they're going to be feeding me more information, but I have more cards to play with. Underground rings. By the sounds of it, as they talk to one another, Tarren has quite the hatred for child sex trafficking.

  So much hatred, that the Profiler inside me itches to identify what kind of person he is. Obviously he's had issues with them. Abused? Known someone abused? He lives in the underworld, but the closest I think it can be to the surface without drowning. But obviously he didn't just end here on a whim.

  None of these people do.

  So, the senator's daughter, Lisa Arrow, might have been swept into the shifter's sex trafficking trade. Worse, a butchery. Of course, there are protocols in place, and strict laws to prevent people abusing those protocols. But there's some places the law will never touch. Places where the forgotten and invisible vanish.

  But the senator's daughter? That's not an invisible person. That's high profile.

  Stinks of potential sabotage. Pushing Arrow's agenda to impose sanctions on the shifters. How better than to use the death of his own daughter?

  I'm thinking too much like a criminal. Or a politician.

  Maybe Tarren's the better choice for information after all. But I can't dismiss the connection Richard Forge has. He, is, after all, the face of the rumored crime. There's plenty of photographs showing him shaking hands with Lisa, her grinning like a leprechaun, him inviting her to stay within Animusa, her agreeing, before being interrupted by her father. No evidence that she followed up on the invitation, but it's generally assumed.

  Arrow didn't want his daughter going to Animusa. Not even for a friendly business trip. He was known to have some kind of altercation with his daughter. And then...

  Nothing.

  “How long your sister been missing for?” Roberta brings me back, and I make a show of gulping the energy drink I ordered. It's condensed and slippery to the touch, leaving cold smears where I've gripped.

  “Not long, to be honest.” Best to lie about the time frame. “Week and a half.”

  “I hope you find her. 'Course, just hope she's not got herself caught in anything she shouldn't be.” A scowl. Roberta's pointed nose twitches, making me think of the fox that lies underneath her skin. She's got that similar sly grin with her teeth as well.

  “She's stupid, so she might be.” I take a chance. “I'm just hoping she's not been trafficked. Don't know what I'll tell the folks back home.”

  Roberta sighs. “Me too, hon. But sometimes, people are lost.”

  Ominous. I wonder if she has any idea about what happened to Lisa. I wonder if any of these people actually know, and whether they care.

  “If you're really...” the man licks his lips nervously. “Some of us like to place bets of our own. In... places.”

  Sharp glances at him. Obviously no one wants him revealing. But I plaster on my best smile. “Look, it's okay if you don't want to talk about it. I just want to find out if my sister's okay. No worries if you can't help.”

  Nervous laughs. The man then extends a hand to me. Breaks out a too-wide smile. “I'm Edric. Two days. I'll take you to one of the places where they bet. You'll need to bring some money of your own.”

  Roberta shoots him an idiot stare, but I nod and attempt to imitate his expression.

  I'm almost certain that these people would be leading me into a trap. Richard and Tarren emphasised that immunes are juicy morsels to shifters. I go straight into the deepest webs of the underworld flashing that badge, I'm likely not coming out again.

  But it'll be enough to start getting a feel for this place. There's still things I don't understand.

>   And I'm almost certain I'm going to need to rope Tarren into this. Bring the mobster into the messier part of the underworld. I'm going to need some protection.

  And I highly doubt someone like Richard wants to get his hands any dirtier than they already are.

  Well, at least they can't hypnotize me into the underworld. So that's something.

  Richard

  My jaws snap inches away from the pathetic foxling's throat.

  “Mercy, please! Please!” He holds his hands up against my slavering mouth, scrunched as hard as possible into the brick wall behind him. “I know nothing, Mr. Forge!”

  You were one of those my brother was contacting! I snap my jaws again, blood screaming to squash him, to feel hot, bubbling life melt in my teeth. I might not be one of those that needs human flesh to survive, but damn if I don't crave some good old-fashioned crunching. The good old days, my father'll say. He was born in times where humans scribbled stories about dragon slayers, only actual dragon slayers were in short supply, given that no other shifter, let alone human, could stand up to them.

  Seeing him cringe bites into my instincts. It's a prey reaction, triggering my urge to deal damage.

  “I swear, I dunno what 'appen, aight?” The foxling's gurgling now, turning purple from my clawed pressure on his throat. For a brief, manic moment, I imagine Emma underneath me. Gasping as well, but for a different reason. Tossing and turning, shuddering in pleasure, as I pound the innocence out of her.

  Not that she can exactly be called innocent after that little session with me and Tarren.

  You better start talking fast then, little meal.

  The fox jabbered away as if his jaw had become unhinged, once I relented on pressure to his throat. “We was due to meet less than a month ago, I swears! He wanted me... paying me to... he was paying me, aight, to look into the different Hunts that went on.”

  I pause. Tempted to shake the fox up a little more. Sensing he has my interest, he continues; “I knew a couple clubs. Usually, he comes, asks me about other shit. Real goody two-shoes, that'un.” A squeak as my claws flex over him. “Uh, good guy, I mean. I 'ad him some info, he says he'll come with a friend, only he never turned up, see? You gotta believe me! It's all I know!”

  My brother, looking into illegal Hunts? That doesn't match him at all. I know he was interested in dealing with sex trafficking. Humans being smuggled in, along with vulnerable shifters. He worked with abuse survivors, in that charity organization of his. Completely rejected our family's business ethic. Disappointment to my father, of course. I'm the good son. The responsible one.

  What club names were you going to give to him?

  “Ah, uh,” he splutters, before saying, “Maw's Street, 52 Avenue. And, ah! Darwin's Boulevard. Can't remember the number.”

  Looks like I'm going to have to go talk to Tarren. Again. I'm still not sure what to think about him. Part of me wants to see him, to experience that mind blowing fuckery again. The other part is furious that I allowed him to get away with that. I caught him with the person I was dating, and he somehow flipped it all around, and made something else out of it.

  I can see his smarmy smile now. He knows what he's doing.

  He should be a politician.

  This is acceptable. You will be spared. But if you know anyone else who might know more about my brother... then contact me with a letter through my main residence.

  I back away. The foxling gives a yelp, before dashing off, without so much as a thank you and a bye.

  Can't exactly blame him. Though now I have another ruined set of clothes. Most shifters prefer to keep their work clothes in the work place, and just travel without clothes if they intend to use shifter form. With a growl, I shake out my wings and launch myself into the air. The currents eddy around me, fierce and soft at the same time, and I spot a few eagle shifters, one other dragon, flying to unknown places. The dragon's got people on her back. A ferry service.

  Good little money maker, but I don't need to ferry people around for mine. I head straight to my work office, where there's even a nice landing pad for me to flap onto, before shifting, and collecting one of five spare sets of attire waiting for me, once I've gone through the identification process, and my A.I security is glad that I'm not an imposter.

  Seems I'm not the only one who's here. Arthur Forge is here too. He must be tottering past 700 now, and he's looking it in human form. Wrinkled as a prune, a long, snowy white beard. Other shifters don't live as long as dragons. We're the real prize for humans.

  But it's a little harder to convert a human to a dragon than it is for other conversions.

  “I wanted to see how you were getting on,” Arthur says, curt and to the point. “I've been hearing a few reports that you've not been in the office for a few days now.”

  “It runs itself just fine, father. You made it that way.” Hard to think sometimes I'm just a baby compared to him. Fifty dragon years of age, with my human appearance matured. He had more children, but they died of dysentery in the 1700s, and influenza in the 1920s.

  We're just as susceptible to viruses as humans, after all. And we only learned with human science advancement about all those little things killing us.

  “I'm concerned that your obsession about what happened to Tom is consuming you, son. Let me be blunt.” He purses that ancient mouth. “You must not let your reputation slide. There are many others who would kill to have that seat of yours in the council.”

  “Father,” I say, more than a little pissed off, “one of our clan went missing. Your own bloodline vanished. Are you not more concerned about finding him than others?”

  “The authorities are already doing what they can.” His voice comes out a wheeze, as if his breathing is past its expiration date. “There is little else more we can do, son. And if you sully your hands digging into whatever cesspits Tom threw himself in, you won't be helping anyone.”

  He's right, unfortunately. I don't much like it, but he's right. “I just feel you don't much like to think about your own son.”

  He gives me a sorrowful shake of his head. “Not so. But there is little else that can be done.”

  Not true. There is something that can be done. And that's what I'm doing. It wouldn't occur to my father, because he doesn't want to get involved with any shady dealings of the underworld. But for me, I've already dipped my toes in its murky surface. Thanks to my appetite. And I've heard the accusations from senator Arrow. But they're unfounded.

  Lisa Arrow never even came into the city to visit me. I might have invited her, but she never got to formally accept it. I honestly didn't even know she had come until the news burned wild with finger pointing.

  Our city's corruption will be the death of us, if the weight of too many powerful humans presses in. But I can't do it alone. The police can only penetrate so far, because they're either in on it too, or the criminals disappear like water oozing through cracks.

  “Maybe I'll need you to take over for a little while, father,” I tell him, trying to gauge his reaction to this. “I might need some time to process my brother's... disappearance.”

  He can't be dead. He can't.

  “It's okay to feel weak, son.” Arthur's eyes watered from some hidden sadness. Must be many in 700 years, but he's not one for talking about emotions. More with sighs that of previous better times, the past looked through rose-tinted glasses. “But you shouldn't be afraid to ask for help. I may be old and retired, but that doesn't mean I can't still assist when needed.”

  I nod. Thinking about my mother. A human. Drawn to my father's grace and dignity. Dying of complications with my brother's birth.

  Don't hate him, she said. Don't hate the little boy.

  Unfortunately, Tomas ended up disliking us. So, I suppose we failed in that regard.

  “Thank you, father. I'll set things up now, make sure it's running well, show you what I'm doing and the stocks I'm investing in as well.”

  The ancient dragon flows into place beside me, watchin
g as I stride off, making sure there's no complications with matters.

  If I'm honest, I don't know where to turn to next. I'd been tracking that foxling for weeks, knowing for a fact he'd had contact with my brother. I half-expected finding him to be the end, that he'd tell me where my brother was, alive or dead, and then this whole sorry business would be over. It gnaws in me as a faint dissatisfaction. After all the effort I've put in, the police have netted nothing but a few rat's nests worth of drug abuse, cleaning out the city as a pretence that they are doing something – but often or not, the rats scurry back as soon as the police have left.

  There needs to be something better than the police.

  A mobster with a heart of gold. Someone with a twisted sense of justice. A vigilante to reach the places where I can't.

  My private investigators turned up Tarren Vale. Not that they can pin much on him, but the coincidences that happen particularly in his owned district, of anyone with a less than stellar past ending up mysteriously dead – it sounded like it fit the profile. A sinner who killed other sinners.

  The P.I never uncovered the reason for Vale's rather... aggressive loathing. It seemed he had just emerged in the underworld out of nothing.

  Emma, meanwhile – her appearance is still ill-timed. I don't have the space to try a relationship – especially a serious one. Not that I even know what serious is. Flings, yes. Attachments, no.

  Seems a lonely life, come to think of it, staring at the world from my landing platform. Maybe I have excitement in the bedsheets, whispered sins and the sweet taste of skin under my tongue, but it's a dull house.

  Grand and brilliant, strung with wealth on the outside. Nothing but a hollow series of rooms within.

  My father pats my shoulder, his thin, veiny fingers gentle. “Make sure you rest after this, my son.”

  I think he knows as much as I do that the only time I'll truly rest is when I'm dead.

  * * *

  Such an amazing device, a cellphone. I remember when they weren't so commonplace. When we had nothing but chunky blocks of cobbled machine that transmitted messages, and clunky house phones. There are more cellphones in the world than house phones now, I am sure. And right now, my little Samsung has that little number highlighted on the WhatsApp symbol. Sat outside on my landing platform, letting the breeze of the city slash at me, I read Emma's message.