Seducing Two Serial Killers

by Hutchins, Hollie

  “Now come on, dear, you know you always forget something. And you can’t pack for shit. Watch the master at work.” My mother does her little tricks with the suitcase. Wrapping fragile items with socks. Treating the suitcase like a 3D jigsaw, rather than a thing to shove clothes into and travel across half the country. “Again – I know you were supposed to be sworn to secrecy and all that with your contract, but not telling your own mother?”

  “Believe me, I wanted to. I just wasn’t in a habit of disobeying my boss… until, well…” Until one glorious phonecall where I told the boss man to stick it. Unfortunately, it does leave me estranged, with an incomplete education, and torn between two dragon shifters who both have invited me to a position in their city. I must be fucking crazy, but I’m going for it. My course be dammed. I’ll need to be careful not to end up as some eye candy, the dumb blonde everyone likes to stereotype, or be cast as a gold-digger. No.

  I’ll carve my own future. And one way or another, I will help authorities locate the missing senator’s daughter. For now, I’ve respected Richard and Tarren’s stance on the matter. Don’t tell human media, don’t inform state police. Let them conduct the investigation in private, because as it is, tensions between the shifter city and human states are getting to cold war levels. And maybe outright war. They want to resolve things with minimal conflict, without hysterical media shitstorming.

  And to be honest, I agree. Best for me not to stir up the politics in this mess. Not that I even know if I can be used effectively in procuring information. Too dangerous for me, according to the shifters I’ve spoken to.

  I find an old stuffed teddy bear – one that my father brought for me when I was around six years old. It’s missing an eye, has two red square patches badly stitched on, but other than that, it’s a good memory. And memories are important, right?

  “Still think you shouldn’t be going to Animusa,” my mother says then, and a sliver of her prejudice comes through. “Associating with them shifters… can’t be being with those types. They sacrifice humans, dear.”

  It’s true. They do.

  A cerebral crack of memory takes me back to that underground arena. Seeing those people killing for money and for a chance at a better life. Watching the victims die, like being mauled by a pack of wolves. Mr. Ruffles drops into my suitcase from nerveless hands, before I gather myself together, and untie my tongue long enough to say, “It’s not as bad as you think it is, mother. They call them honor sacrifices. Those people have it all arranged beforehand. Like, imagine you have a terminal illness or something. You go to them, and they’ll pay you money if you volunteer to be, uh, donated to them. More if you want to try your luck at being a shifter. It’s not like those people don’t know what they’re getting into.”

  “It’s barbaric,” my mother says in her scratchy voice. “Utterly barbaric. You don’t support it, do you?”

  “I’m just saying, mother – thousands of people kill for money or for misguided love every day. Life Insurance policies, robbing some poor unfortunate in an alley. Bombing civilians. Out of all the things that happen in this world – this one’s the least of your worries.”

  She shakes her head, still not buying it. “Sounds awfully like excuses to me. I’ve always thought something should be done about those shifters. Especially with the senator’s daughter missing – well now, maybe that’ll persuade congress to do something!”

  I can’t help but think Congress has enough targets to shoot missiles at, without adding an independent state in the Americas itself to the list. Especially one full of powerful creatures. “Maybe,” I say, deciding not to get into an extended argument over it. I don’t even fully know my own stance on it. I’ve seen things I don’t think should be allowed. It may not be different from some of the terrible things humans do to one another, but it’s almost like the people in Animusa want to regress back to older, more brutal times. Roman coliseums where people fought to the death and watched it like we watch television. A real spectacle for them.

  My mother helps to transform my suitcase into something that practically defies the laws of physics, since the things she’s been able to put in there is far more than I’d have ever managed by myself. I simply don’t have that kind of skill.

  Genius mother. Closing the case comfortably, I give her a huge hug. She’s so small in my arms now, and it’s strange to remember the vastness she once used to feel to me. Her arms used to be my world. And dad spinning me around in the fields like a helicopter blade. I’m almost as tall as him now.

  Dad’s sitting in the living room, watching a baseball game, but manages to tear his attention away from it long ago to hug me as well.

  My parents may not be perfect, but they do care. “Just make sure you contact us more,” father says, his light brown, bristly cheeks tickling mine. “Don’t be a stranger. Don’t turn into a slut. Be a nice, respectable woman. And probably don’t use social media much. Frightening, some of those comments.”

  “I’m okay, dad. Really.” I grin at my cheerfully faced father, the one who I’ve inherited the better looks from. What a pair they make. A part of me is a little sad that I’ll never reach the dynamics of my childhood again, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? We all have to experience change in the end. Whether we like it or not. Can see why it becomes addictive for people to be hooked to a nostalgic past. The more bad you see in the world, the more you want to retreat to a time when you were happy.

  Leaving the house, taking the taxi to the airport, I have that sense of loneliness that pervades a traveler. Leaving one place to go to another by making it through the skies.

  Back to Richard and Tarren. Back to whatever the fuck it is we have between us. I didn’t even bother trying to explain that shit to my parents. I mean, I still can’t wrap my head around it, because I was brought up conservative. Expecting to grow old, find a nice man, marry him, have his kids under extreme pressure and obvious hints from my mom about how much she’d like to be a grandmother so she can spend all day doting over a child whilst I probably deal with the messy, sleepless crying part.

  When my taxi eventually arrives at Portland International Jetport, the first thing I notice is that with the border line to Animusa, in the Sonoran Nevada Desert, there’s a shifter as part of customs check. Other shifters are custom checking for other cities as well – and I find it interesting to think of the advances of technology these cities have given. They long since found ways to irrigate and turn those deserts into fertile, heat-controlled land masses. Humans couldn’t do anything with them all those centuries ago, so the shifters simply oozed into the cracks and sprung cities.

  The tiger shifter in customs gives me a careful, appraising look. Likely smelling my immunity. Seeing his clan tattoo on the back of his hand makes me nervous.

  There’s another tiger shifter that I’ve encountered in Animusa. One that’s directly at odds with Richard and Tarren.

  One that may be the main villain in when it comes to trying to locate the senator’s daughter. Wonder if he’s related to Janus, I think, even as my luggage is checked through, and my I.D confirmed. His yellow eyes follow me like twin stalkers, and I can’t hurry away to the waiting room fast enough.

  The flight itself takes around two hours. I messaged Tarren and Richard to tell them I was returning today, because they expressed interest in wanting to meet me at the airport if I did. I wonder if both of them will be waiting, standing side by side, or whether it’ll just be one person. And do I have a preference?

  Richard, tall, smart, with his neat appearance and the spark of desire in his eyes. A businessman that garners respect, and a hidden life behind that wealthy, social mask he wears. Or Tarren – smeared in tattoos, big arms, a glinting danger in his lips and eyes. Confident to the point of recklessness, and a mouth that whispers thrills.

  Both of them send a tickle in my gut. Both represent different things I’d want to gain out of my life. Stability and danger. Becoming someone respectable and becoming the thing
that my father warned me so profusely against.

  Since Tarren’s idea of giving me a job precisely involves more sex. Something shifter groupies leap on the chance to experience.

  Maybe I should just put Tarren and Richard into the same room on WhatsApp and watch them duke it out there. So far, I’ve not quite gained the confidence to do that. Maybe in time. Once I’m certain of where our positions are. If I do end up liking one more than the other, or if they lift off their current faces and personalities to reveal someone monstrous underneath. Sort of like how people start off with the perfect boyfriend, before he devolves into an abusive manipulator, a shadow of the beauty he once was. And a shadow the women keep revisiting in their heads as an excuse to endure the new change.

  Arriving on the other side, waiting for my luggage, listening to someone scream about their suitcase getting battered and that there’s something fragile in it – I head to the exit, searching for one or the other.

  Both responded to my messages that they’ll be there. So my heart bobs when I see just Richard Forge by the entrance, his arms folded, staring in the wrong direction for arrivals. He’s suited, with a wonderful gray attire that fits him to the last stitch. He wears a business watch that looks as if it’ll fetch several thousand dollars just by itself, and his amber eyes are fixed upon the Arrivals board, perhaps examining my flight time. His light brown hair is trimmed back in an elegant cut, and I can already imagine those piercing eyes of his settling upon me.

  My suitcase rattles over the floor as I drag it by the handle, and finally he turns, and smiles. I smile back, though a part of me feels disappointed that Tarren isn’t here as well. I’d have liked to get greeted by both of them.

  “How was it? Good visit? Good journey?” He’s a tiny bit hesitant before scooping me into a hug, as if unsure if he wants to do the public display of affection. People look at him – they recognize Richard, of course. Why wouldn’t they? All citizens tend to know their councilmen, anyway.

  I notice, briefly, that Richard’s no longer wearing his gold cufflink.

  Guess he doesn’t have to anymore, since his brother’s alive.

  Tarren said he’d be here. The message burns in my mind, even as I smile and indulge in the hug, closing my eyes and breathing in the wonderful scent of him. He’s got a light, minty perfume that’s strong around his neck. Almost tempting me to take a quick lick. But best not to embarrass him in front of the people who might hunt for information. There’s already photographers snapping.

  Ah well. Can’t have everything, I guess.

  “Great visit,” I tell him. “My parents were really happy to see me, wanting to know how I’m doing. Great telling them about my cranky old boss as well, admitting that I was deliberately holding back on information. Contract’s worth. Technically,” I say, finally extricating myself from his warm, strong grip, letting him take my suitcase handle, “I’m still not supposed to talk about it. So…”

  “Let’s take it elsewhere.” Though his smile is benign, there’s a devil dancing behind his eyes. One that gets the gears working down below, making me hardly wait to get myself settled. Richard, not wanting there to be people commenting on how fast we might be moving in, has settled me with another flat in the residential block that he apparently owns. Because why not own an entire block, as well as whatever stocks he likes to invest in.

  Am I a little bit of a gold digger for doing this, or just shamelessly exploiting the opportunity that pops up?

  Probably that one.

  I mean… if someone essentially offered you a place to live where you didn’t have to pay rent – would you frown at it? Because I’m not. It’ll help for sure when I try to figure out what kind of thing I want to do. Whether I’ll enrol in courses in Animusa instead, or whether I’m going to end up taking Tarren’s, uh, offer.

  “My mother’s still massively distrustful of shifters, by the way. She’s sucked up everything the media’s saying about it. All for the sanctions, showing you guys whose boss and so on. So I didn’t bother telling her the real reason why I’m staying. That might be a stone too hard to swallow.”

  “Not that you should be swallowing stones… anyway. If you’re wondering where Tarren is,” Richard says then, which makes me perk up slightly, “he gave me a call about ten minutes due from when you were supposed to arrive, telling me he couldn’t make it, and that I had to extend my apologies to you. He had something unavoidable come up, though god knows what that is.”

  That makes me feel a little better. I know Tarren and Richard are busy people. Though maybe Tarren could have sent me a message. There’s nothing on my phone. Richard stops for a moment, lighting up a smoke to calm his nerves. Looks expensive, smells awful. He takes care to waft the smoke away from me.

  We bundle then into a chauffeur driven car, which looks like a Tesla make. Sure sign of wealth and wanting to save the economy – drive electric. “My father’s been on the warpath since my brother returned to us. First with making more of an effort to bond with him, and more on being determined to swamp money into cleaning out the corruption of the city. I’m afraid it’s a useless gesture on my father’s part…” Richard’s knee bumps mine. It’s hot and the fabric of his pants are rough, sending a delightful wave of friction through me. I savor it, even as Richard continues to explain his family dynamics.

  “I don’t think it’s useless,” I manage, though my voice comes out husky, making him pay attention. “I think it’s the type of thing people need to see. That people are trying to tackle the corruption. Weren’t you doing the same?”

  “Yes, but not like he is. I wanted to keep my enemies close. Not make myself a target of hitmen or whatever. My father’s going to be a prime target for those who care more about their profits than about whether or not he happened to be a founding father of the city. Hell, I bet some of them don’t even know he’s a founding father. You can’t deal with greed. It’s unreasonable.”

  Greed… like those people. I nod and lean against Richard, and we fall quiet for a little bit. People selling their lives for a few thousand dollars. People robbing others for the twenty dollars in their wallet, killing them because they don’t want to be identified.

  Seems the whole world likes to revolve itself around money, and working hard. I mean, I agree that you gotta work hard to get where you want. But I’m not sure that the world can be divided into people that deserve it and people that don’t. Seems to be that there’s a lot of luck involved with that whole deserving part.

  Guess I’m thinking this because I’m not entirely sure I actually earned what I have.

  I was lucky.

  I wouldn’t be one of those wretches, dying of some unknown illness, selling the last whispers of my life for five thousand dollars for a child I have at home, or someone who needs it. I just can’t comprehend being that desperate, that cut off from everything.

  I… biting my lip, I breathe hard, which makes Richard rub my shoulder, and his cheek ruffles my hair. I just don’t understand.

  I’m supposed to be interested in the whole idea of Profiling, in understanding how people work, but in all truth and honesty, I don’t. I just don’t have that well of experience to draw from.

  What am I doing, really, pretending that I can understand others? The city blurs past, with the cars, the shifters

  “Did you miss me?” Richard’s voice rumbles next to my head, and along with the vibrations of the car, soothes.

  “Of course. I half expected…” I flush as I begin saying this, “you to not be there. Like I’d made up the whole thing in my head and that once I went, you’d realize that you should escape out the crazy while you still can.”

  “Maybe that did cross my head once or twice,” he says in mirth, and I swat at him. “I can’t pretend that this is normal. Or that it’ll be easy for you. You’re an immune, stuck in a city with people who might like a chunk out of you if they got the chance. Less if they realized they’d have to deal with me and Tarren…” his voice lapses off.
Jealously? I still don’t understand what he and Tarren really think about one another. They’re certainly not lovey dovey.

  But there’s… something.

  Best not to think too hard on it. I’m jetlagged, even just from a two hour trip. I settle more comfortably into Richard’s arms, telling myself that everything will be ok.

  Tarren

  Those bastards think they can get away with anything. One of my brothels was invaded, and the women beaten up, and one killed. The shit thing about it is that it’ll all come back to me, if the police get too heavy on the scent. I have to be seen keeping my hands out of the mess.

  That's not even the worst of my troubles. By far. I'll chase up with Janus's little thugs later.

  There's someone else I need to get first. I sip at my ale in the seedy establishment, and feel my pocket vibrate.

  I check my phone, and see that Emma's arrived safely. Good. I intended to meet up with her, until he cropped up into view. Her message's a little snippy, as expected. I did technically blow her off for this.

  But I'm not going to let him get away. Not as long as he's still breathing. Even now, as I watch him in the bar, my sleeves rolled down, my hair dyed from black to dark blonde, and a week's worth of fuzz over my usually shaved face – hatred boils up. How dare he – how dare he just walk into a bar like this and act like he's done nothing wrong.

  How dare he think he has the right to swagger around, when those hands of his are stained with the blood of innocents. Glancing around, I try to identify if he's with anyone else. Seems to be alone. Scratches at his crotch. A pimple. Getting himself rid of all the itches. Five and a half feet tall, slightly overweight, with curly blonde hair that doesn't suit his sallow features. If he was a strange, I'd just think he needed a good haircut. But he's not a stranger.

  My hand grips the tankard so hard that some of my dragon strength seeps through. It dents, and I have to stop myself squeezing it like a can. Don't draw attention. Don't act like I might be harboring murderous thoughts about someone.