“None of this is going to work,” he grumbled, watching Lafont walk over to the front window of the doughnut shop. “I’m just going to miss out on all of life and sit here old and helpless until I die. Probably tomorrow.”
“No, not tomorrow,” said Lafont, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. “Come here.”
“What?”
“Come and see,” said the detective.
“Perhaps you’ve spotted a rabbi we can harass?” snarked Arthur as he hobbled across the room. “Or maybe a shaman is across the street selling stationery? Or maybe…” He trailed off as he reached the window. Overhead, black clouds were spiraling in a twisting cyclone, with the eye of the storm somewhere over Strawbery Banke. Crimson arcs of energy crackled and pulsed through the clouds, looking like blazing veins in the malignant darkness.
“Come on,” said Lafont, running for the door. Arthur hurried to follow him. They piled into Lafont’s old car and roared out onto Islington Street, heading toward the harbor and Strawbery Banke.
Arthur stared up at the black clouds circling above. “What is that?” he asked. “Did we do that?”
“No, we didn’t,” said Lafont, running a red light. “But there’s a reason that people like Dullahan are secretive, and there’s a reason they call them the forbidden maths. And if enough of the right…well, we can’t call them people, but if enough beings start hearing about some accountant practicing the forbidden arts, those are flags, right? Rumors start. Someone might notice.”
“And what then?” said Arthur, watching the black spiral intensify.
Lafont shrugged. “Let’s call it an audit.”
The explosion was a pillar of green fire, rising high over Portsmouth’s skyline. A glowing fireball erupted from what Arthur could only presume was the former office of Don Dullahan, CPA. A split second later, the lightning followed, but rather than striking down from the clouds it shot up from the middle of the explosion and through the center of the black cyclone. The spiraling clouds rumbled and crackled with more crimson lightning as the cyclone pulled itself tighter and tighter, winding into a ball of energy before disappearing in a flash of light. The sky was left full of dark clouds, and an unseasonal but otherwise unremarkable thunderstorm began.
“Whoa,” breathed Arthur, watching the sky where the cyclone had been. He felt a certain vitality returning to him, a vigor that had been acutely lacking since Dullahan’s attack. Excited, he looked at his hands, but they remained pale and withered, the appendages of a septuagenarian. “But…I’m still old.”
“Yeah,” said Lafont stoically.
“But…they did the audit!”
“Yeah,” agreed Lafont. “Look, I don’t know much about the powers that be, and I like it that way. But I’d bet frying a rogue math wizard was the easy part. How many years did he steal? From how many people? How do you give that time back to people like Nick Morgan? That sounds like a real headache, and any bureaucrat I know, in this dimension or another, would find a way to bury a case like that at the bottom of a file.”
“So…what? I’ll just stay like this?”
“Yeah.”
Arthur felt a rising panic. “But…that means I only have a few years left!”
“Oh, I doubt that,” posited Lafont. “I bet you won’t age a day until they get the accounting sorted out. You’re not really old. You’re just…not currently young.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Arthur.
“I’d never get anywhere if I stuck to what made sense,” said Lafont. “We’re here.”
They pulled up beside the former site of the offices of Don Dullahan, CPA, and the current site of a strange crater. The building that housed Dullahan’s office had been neatly excised from reality, leaving the buildings, sidewalks, and even shrubs around it largely untouched, save for a bit of ash scattered about. Already, police had surrounded the blast area with yellow tape, and bewildered firefighters stood awkwardly at the site of a very large, very hot explosion with no fire remaining to fight.
“Detective Martin,” said Lafont as he and Arthur walked toward the police line.
“Mr. Lafont,” said a young officer, giving Lafont a nod. “Glad you’re here. We’ve got a real mystery on our hands.”
“Oh?” said Lafont. “Seems pretty straightforward to me. Gas leak exploded.”
“What? No,” said the officer. “I’ve never heard of a gas leak that triggered a green explosion. And then there’s the storm with strange red lightning that struck right after the blast.”
“Yep,” said Lafont. “Gas leak. Classic case.”
“I’m telling you, it wasn’t,” insisted Detective Martin. “The house had electric heating, by our records. This street doesn’t even have a gas line! How could it possibly be a gas pipe explosion?”
“Maybe you’re right.” Lafont gave Arthur a knowing look. “Maybe it was some strange power that could summon an unnatural storm from the heavens and blast an entire building from existence for some little offense.”
Arthur saw where Lafont was going and took his lead. “Maybe you should investigate this strange phenomenon. I’m sure some people won’t mock you as a madman.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t lose sleep at night, wondering if the power that could vaporize a house in moments is happy with the fact that you’re after it,” said Lafont.
“Wondering if you’ll be caught in the next blast of red lightning,” added Arthur.
“Or maybe it was a gas leak,” said Lafont.
The policeman considered this for a moment, and then with a wisdom Arthur envied he said, “Gas leak caused an explosion. Classic case. Thank you, Mr. Lafont.”
“Any time, Detective,” said Lafont. He handed the officer a small slip of blue paper. “Have a coupon. Two free doughnuts.”
“Thanks! Do you have Boston cream—hey!”
Lafont was already storming back to the Crown Victoria. “Come on, Arthur,” he snarled. “We’ve got unfinished business.”
Upon returning to Blue’s Doughnuts, Arthur and Lafont discovered that the day’s batch of pastries had been ransacked, but only a handful of change was left in the coffee can. “That’s people for you,” grumbled Lafont. “Come on. Let’s clean up.”
“Do I still work here at my age?” mused Arthur, mustering a halfhearted smile.
“Where else are you going to go with your resume?” chuckled Lafont.
Arthur gave a small laugh and started to pack up the register. “I take it you’re headed home? It’s after five.”
“No,” said Lafont. “I think you and I should hang out here tonight.”
“Mr. Lafont—”
“Call me Buford.”
“Really?”
Lafont thought about it. “No,” he decided. “Just call me Lafont.”
“Okay, Lafont. It’s been a really long day. A fifty-year day, in fact. I just want to go home and get some sleep.”
“Sleep in one of the armchairs,” said Lafont. “It’s warm over there by the woodstove. I don’t mind telling you that I’ve taken more than my share of naps there.”
“Lafont—”
“Arthur,” said Lafont, picking up the phone. “You need to trust me.”
“Are we in some sort of danger?”
Lafont shrugged. “Probably. I’d say more if I knew for sure. But as it is, we’ll find out.”
Arthur sighed and reluctantly turned back to the register.
Lafont dialed a number and tapped his foot impatiently as he waited. “Hello? Hello, Lillian…Yes, this is Detective Lafont…Yes. Look, unfortunately we found very strong evidence that Nick Morgan is deceased…Yes, I’m very sorry…No, I can’t prove it…No, we don’t know who or why…”
Arthur nodded to himself as he fetched the broom. It seemed best that Lillian not know the truth of Nick’s demise. Arthur wished he didn’t know it either.
“Yes, we’re ending our contract,” continued Lafont. “I just don’t think we’ll be able to tell you
how or where he passed away…Right. No, we don’t need any more money. The deposit was enough…Right. And I’m very sorry again…Yeah, well, I think Arthur and I are going to be working here at the doughnut shop very late tonight…Yeah, a lot of cleaning up and such to do…Okay. Best of luck, and my condolences…Goodbye.”
“How did she take it?” asked Arthur.
“As expected,” said Lafont. “Hang on a moment.” The large man disappeared into the back room and returned a few moments later with a small, gray box.
“This is the Black Book of Om Noibous,” Lafont said, handing the box to Arthur and taking the broom in exchange. “I keep it on the top shelf above my desk. It’s an encyclopedia of secrets and magic and forbidden things, written by some mad monk from a few centuries ago. I was warned not to read it, but I was young and stupid and I liked the idea of learning the secrets of the universe. So I read part of it, and ever since strange things seem to follow me.
“It may be a bad idea for you to read this book. Or maybe it’s already too late for you to avoid the strange anyway, and reading this would help you be young again. I don’t know. But I’m gonna let you decide for yourself whether or not to read it. I owe you that much.”
Arthur looked at the plain gray box in his hands. “Thanks,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Lafont. “Look, why don’t you go sit by the fire? I’ve got some stuff to get out of the car, and then I’ll tidy up the shop.”
It sounded like a good idea to Arthur. He hobbled to the easy chairs by the woodstove, threw a log into the fire, and settled down. For a moment, he thought about reading the black book in the gray box, but it seemed best not to decide yet, and weariness was catching up with him. He set the box on the table and settled back to watch the traffic pass, and sometime shortly thereafter he fell asleep.
It was well after dark when Arthur stirred again, roused by the tingling of the bell on the front door. Through a haze of half sleep he made out a familiar figure in a long coat. “Lillian?”
A gunshot roared from the back room, bringing the world into sudden focus. Lillian staggered, clutching her shoulder. Arthur leapt to his feet, which was a longer and more involved process than usual given his recent aging.
“What the hell?” shouted Arthur.
“Stop!” shrieked Lillian. “It’s me!”
“I know who you are!” bellowed Lafont, stepping out of the back room with the rune-covered Magnum in his hand. “And I know what you are, too.”
“Arthur, please help me!” said Lillian, falling back against a wall. “He’s clearly gone mad!”
“Don’t listen to her, Arthur,” said Lafont.
Arthur wanted to listen to her. He found that the stereotypical beautiful young woman calling out to him in distress had a distinct appeal, and it did seem that Lafont had gone insane. But the fat detective had seemed mad more than once since Arthur took the job, and while “trust” was perhaps too strong a word for his stance on Lafont, Arthur was learning not to disregard what the detective said. “What’s happening?” Arthur asked as he stepped beside Lafont.
“Lillian’s come to kill us,” said Lafont. “Isn’t that right, Li—”
Lillian cut him off with an inhuman hiss. She rushed forward with incredible speed, her long coat tearing as four black arachnoid limbs sprouted from her back. Lafont cursed and fired, but the creature that had been Lillian moments ago leapt to the ceiling and clung to it as a massive spider would. Six red eyes opened on the sides of her forehead, and all of them stared down at Lafont and Arthur with undisguised malice.
“What the hell is that?” shouted Arthur, backing away.
“A succubus,” said Lafont. “A demon that seduces unwary men.”
“They enjoy it well enough,” said Lillian, her voice warped and guttural.
“Right until you drain their life force—damn it!”
The succubus launched herself at the detective in one fluid movement, easily dodging another shot from Lafont’s Magnum. Demon and detective went down in a flailing ball of limbs and fangs. The Magnum slid across the floor, and Arthur scrambled to retrieve it. When Lillian reared for a vicious strike, Arthur took his shot. The silver bullet struck the succubus squarely in the chest, throwing her like a rag doll from Lafont and slamming her into the counter. She lay amid the broken glass, breathing heavily and oozing green blood onto the floor.
“Thanks, kid,” said Lafont as Arthur tried to help him to his feet.
“Don’t…ergh…mention it,” grunted Arthur.
“How…” gasped Lillian, struggling to breathe, “how did you know?”
“Nick Morgan was killed by Don Dullahan, a baleful accountant,” said Lafont. He finally heaved himself to his feet and stamped over to her. “But Vivianne told us that dark accountants like that usually don’t kill anyone quickly or directly, so they can stay hidden. I had to wonder why Dullahan would risk his cover to kill Mr. Morgan. And then I recalled Nick’s mysterious illness, the one that was making him thinner and weaker, when Dullahan’s art would have made him older instead. So I figured Nick was already dying when he went to see Dullahan.”
“Because Lillian was already killing him,” said Arthur.
“Right,” said Lafont. “I assumed Nick was the victim of some other wizard or monster, and Dullahan decided he could take whatever years the kid had left and let the original attacker take the fall.”
“Nicky was mine. Mine!” Lillian hissed through razor teeth. “But how did you know it was me?”
“I could see all the signs by the time I looked up succubi in Vivianne’s big book of deadly monsters,” said Lafont. “I realized that you didn’t just stumble on the one detective with a paranormal background in town; you came looking for me because you suspected something else had taken your prey. And then there’s the fact that you were way out of Nick’s league, and his receipts told us he was obsessed with you enough to commit tax fraud.”
“Mine…” hissed Lillian.
“Once I had my suspicion, I set a trap.” Lafont smiled proudly as he stroked his mustache. “If you were a normal person, I doubt you’d have insisted on paying for a job we didn’t finish, and I know you wouldn’t come by the doughnut shop after we closed without an ulterior motive.”
“Most people won’t even come before we close without an ulterior motive,” added Arthur.
“Maybe so,” grunted Lafont. “But I thought Lillian here would show up, especially with the way she’s been flirting with me—”
“Wait, what?” said Lillian.
“The way you were flirting with me,” said Lafont. “It’s clear I was to be your next victim—”
“Ew. Ew. No.” The idea seemed to pain Lillian more than the shards of glass puncturing her carapace. “Gods, no. You’re so old. And fat. And you smell like cheese.”
“Hey, with the way you spoke to me…” said Lafont, looking a little flustered.
“I was being polite!” said Lillian. Coughing up some green blood, she added, “God, men are pigs. This is why I don’t feel guilty about eating them.”
“But…you’re a succubus.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t have standards,” Lillian snarled. “It’s not like I sleep with every guy I kill.”
“But…Arthur, back me up here,” said Lafont. “I mean, come on.”
Arthur shifted awkwardly. “It does seem like you’re being a little presumptuous,” he told Lafont with some reluctance. “I mean, just because a man-eating demon is nice to you doesn’t mean that she’s into you. You can’t just assume these things.”
“Thank you!” snapped Lillian. But her voice was weaker now, and her words came out as a rasp. “Gross.”
“All right, you’ve made your point,” said Lafont sullenly. “Back to the hell that spawned you and all that.”
“So…gross…” gasped Lillian one last time and then fell silent.
“Is that it?” asked Arthur.
“Almost,” said Lafont.
&nb
sp; A moment later, Lillian’s body erupted in a violent, violet flame that consumed her with an inhuman wail. There was a blast of heat, a whiff of lavender, a rush of wind, and then she was gone, leaving nothing but a bit of soot staining the shattered counter.
“That’s it,” said Lafont.
“Now what?” asked Arthur.
“Now I’m going home to bed,” said Lafont. “You should do the same. We’ll get this mess cleaned up tomorrow. And then, hopefully, we’re all done with this strange stuff, and life gets back to normal.”
“Except I’m perpetually old but never aging.”
“Mostly normal.” Lafont gave an apologetic shrug. “Life goes on. All you can do is just try to keep up with it.”
“I suppose,” said Arthur. He looked around the room. “I think I’ll tidy up a bit and then sleep here tonight, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Sounds good,” said Lafont and bid Arthur good night.
Arthur watched the detective leave, then set about sweeping up the glass and ash as best he could. It was past midnight when he started and almost one in the morning when he settled down into the armchair closest to the woodstove. It was nice, sitting by the fire, letting the warmth seep into his bones. Compared to the brushes with death Arthur had experienced recently, a mostly normal existence didn’t sound so bad. He could understand why Lafont tried to cling to such a life.
“It’s just not for me,” said Arthur aloud, pulling the Black Book of Om Noibous from the gray box on the table beside him. With a deep breath, he opened the book and began to read.
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Death and Taxes: An Urban Fantasy Mystery Page 3