Dance with the Devil

In a supernatural world filled with demons, vampires, werewolves, alchemists, imps, gremlins, and more besides, it takes a unique individual to solve the mysteries that crop up from time to time.

Christian White is a paranormal detective for this supernatural world, willing to take on any case - from strange rituals and runaway vampires, to fighting sorcers and confronting demon lords - so long as it is interesting.

Cases: 313 131 322 134 138 095 329 331 332 407 413 421

Made for You | First Date | The Devil & Halloween |

 

Case #313: The Devil's Consort

"They call her the Devil's Consort."

Chris snorted softly. "How cute. What earned her that name? The dress or the hair?"

The woman in question wore a floor-length red dress that left very little to the imagination. Probably satin, but at a distance it was hard to tell. The matching heels gave her a good three inches, putting her just at chin level with her date. Her hair was a decorative mess of braids and ribbons, twists and knots. Whoever arranged it must have wanted to commit suicide or kill her.

"I think it has more to do with the way she treats men," Douglas said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "But the hair was a fair guess." He reached into his tux jacket and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook. Flipping it open, he began to tick off what he'd learned while waiting for Chris to arrive. "Phillipa McGovern. Second-eldest child and only daughter to George McGovern - he's the one paying us. Fond of garden parties, fast cars and the wannabes who drive them. Said wannabes she tears through much like a dog through a steak. I'd say fond of money, but I figure that goes without saying."

Chris rolled his eyes. "And we're needed here because?"

"Lately she's been ditching all of the above and hanging around after-dark fetes only. Hardly leaves her house anymore until it gets dark."

"If she's a vampire, I'm dropping this case."

Douglas rolled his mismatched eyes at Chris. "You can't still be sour about the last case."

"Wanna bet?"

"Well, she's not a biter so there's no need to fear, oh brave and noble leader."

"Shut up and tell me what else you've got."

Douglas shrugged, "Not much really. We only got this case what, five hours ago? And you only bothered to show up two hours ago. So far as mannerisms and stuff go, she's the same as ever. It's just she hates going out in the daytime suddenly. She's also apparently started taking off after midnight."

Chris mused over that, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he contemplated the woman in the red dress. "Little chance of vampirism, then. They usually get cranky. Same with other species of biter. Any word of cults? That'd fit the after midnight bit."

"It's possible, but her father hasn't been able to figure out where she goes and if her friends know, they aren't giving the info up."

"Right. Possession, you think?"

"That or seduction. Would certainly explain the dress. Maybe an incubi is getting to her."

"Could be, though usually they stick to the bedroom." Chris sighed. "Go put yourself to use and see what you can sniff out. Meet me back here at eleven."

Douglas raised his eyes to the ceiling but did not argue the order. "You're just miffed because you had to come to the party."

"I hate parties," Chris muttered. Shooing Douglas away, he fussed with his own tuxedo in an effort to stall on joining the crush downstairs. The deep blue of his vest brightened the ocean-blue of his eyes. His tux was simple, understated - a stark contrast to the ring on his left ring finger, a large square cut diamond set in white gold. It matched the smaller diamond stud in his right ear, mostly hidden by his longish bright blonde hair.

He narrowed his eyes at the crowded ballroom, making note of the people he wanted to avoid like the plague and picking out those he would need to chat with.

Hopefully he could finish it up in a night and sleep in tomorrow.

Descending the stairs, he let his gaze focus on the man to whom Phillipa was clinging.

And narrowed his eyes again, pausing halfway down the staircase. He didn't recognize the guy. Tall, hard to tell how tall from a distance, but probably taller than his own 5'9". Sandy blonde hair, handsome in a spoiled brat sort of way. Chris wanted to punch him just on principal. But that'd get him yelled at and he really wasn't in the mood. Plus it wasn't a good idea to punch potential suspects before you could prove they were suspects. Ah, well.

He caught a flurry of movement from the corner of his eyes, smirking briefly as he watched Doug move through a crowd of people that saw him only when Doug wanted to be seen. His human guise shifted for a moment, hard to maintain perfectly when he was using other spells. But it reasserted itself a moment later, as Douglas sidled up to a young brunette woman and began to charm her with his honey-brown hair and profusion of freckles, his shy smile and disarming glasses. Chris racked his brain for a name, finally coming up with Elise. One of Phillipa's friends. Looked like Doug would have her picked clean in a half hour tops.

He hated parties. The longer he was here, the higher the numbers for this job were going to go. Luckily Phil's daddy was more than happy to pay whatever.

All because his little girl was probably hitting parties she shouldn't be anywhere near. If this turned out to be a normal case, the price was doubling.

At least it wasn't vampires. Forcing himself to stop sulking and get the night over with, Chris joined the throng and started making his way toward the fountain in the center. The party was a birthday party for Sable Brennus, one of the city's more prominent businessmen. Which meant this party was going to go all night. The ballroom was actually the lobby and most of the first floor of Brennus' most prestigious hotel. It was almost more of a greenhouse; there were so many plants and fountains around. The focal point was the large fountain in the center, depicting several beautiful women in beautiful robes holding the usual jars eternally spilling water.

Chris slowed to a halt as the crowd parted to reveal Phillipa and her date. A very pretty picture they made, but Chris wasn't very impressed. Now he just needed an in.

"Ah, Mr. White. So good to see you could make it after all."

Chris smiled as George McGovern came at him, hand extended. He shook it and smiled pleasantly. "Yes, I just managed to clear my schedule. Some less than happy clients, but they understood you were my priority."

"I'm flattered, sir." George, looking much like a prosperous businessmen should, silk and diamonds and a watch that could probably pay for Chris' house. He stroked his graying beard and motioned with beefy fingers toward his daughter. "Have you met my daughter? Phillipa, my dear, come meet my new friend."

Phillipa, Chris could see, was less than thrilled at being pulled away from her circle of admirers to meet a friend of her father's. But her impatience vanished as her gaze latched onto Chris. "Phillipa McGovern," she smiled with all the charm a school could teach a girl and extended her hand.

Chris accepted it, bowing slightly and kissing the knuckles. "A pleasure, my lady."

Her delighted laughter was pretty, clear as crystal and no doubt addictive for most. "Such a quaint gentleman! Daddy, who is this?"

"Chris White," Chris said, releasing her hand.

"He's a detective, sweet. But keep that quiet. He's helping me investigate a business matter. I'm only telling you so that you'll cooperate with any questions he asks you - no matter how strange they seem. All right?"

"Oh," Phillipa said, immediately disinterested. "Whatever you say, daddy." She started to say more, but her date appeared at her elbow and murmured quietly in her ear. "Excuse me, please. It was nice to meet you, Mr. White."

"Chris, please. The pleasure was mine." Chris smiled until she vanished onto the dance floor, and then turned to McGovern. "Asking her what she's up to at night is hardly going to be within the realm of a business investigation."

McGovern shrugged, "It's all I could devise for why you'll be around my house and business so much."

Chris refrained from a comment about leaving the devising to those paid for it and merely nodded. "I'm sorry I was out of the office when you stopped by. My assistant filled me in on the basics, but I would rather hear it all from you. If we could talk?"

"Certainly. Sable won't mind my use of his office, we can talk there."

Nodding, Chris motioned for McGovern to lead the way. They were nearly out of the overcrowded room when they were intercepted by the host and guest of honor.

"McGovern, my friend. I've been trying to get to you all night. You've been so popular, I'm starting to get jealous." Sable Brennus winked, storm-cloud eyes bright with amusement. His thick, dark curls had been rigorously tamed to lay neatly around his head, softening the hard lines of his sternly handsome features. He quirked a fine black brow at the man beside McGovern. "Mr. White, always a pleasure to see you."

"I'm sure," Chris responded. "If you'll pardon us, Mr. Brennus, Mr. McGovern and I had something we needed to discuss."

"Of course, of course. I did not mean to keep you from business. But George, do not try to leave without coming to speak with me. If I'm abandoned to the women all night long, I will hold you responsible for the wretchedness of my birthday party."

McGovern laughed. "I'll be back shortly, Sable. You can last a few minutes more, can't you?"

"A few - but no more than that."

"Understood," McGovern said with another laugh, clapping Brennus on the shoulder as he guided Chris from the room.

In Brennus' study, Chris moved to take the leather seat behind the desk, motioning McGovern to take the seat on the opposite side of the desk. He leaned back, folding one leg neatly across the knee of the other and steepled his fingers. "Start at the beginning and tell me everything. I cannot emphasize the importance of that enough. What may seem trifling to you could be of crucial importance to me. Leave no detail out. Begin, please."

*~*~*~*

"I see you managed to survive the ordeal, fearless leader."

Chris didn't deign to look at Douglas. "Do you want your wings clipped, smart ass?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Then cease with the smart ass and start with the helpful."

"Somebody's snippy tonight. Miffed you're not getting any?"

"Miffed because it looks like I get to shadow the broad all night instead of going to bed early and sleeping in for once." Chris gave him a look. "Last warning."

"Things are getting weird. It's like everyone's totally oblivious to her strange behavior. Only her dad has seemed to notice - and he's only noticed that she leaves at midnight. I even asked about her not being around her usual hangouts and they came up with perfectly normal, acceptable reasons. It's like her dad's a nutcase."

Chris sighed. "A parent sensitive to workings against his child." He rubbed his chin, leaning on the balcony railing and staring down at the party that was still going strong after four hours.

"Not terribly sensitive, if all he notices is that she keeps weird hours suddenly."

"Yeah, well. If he knew more then our job would actually be easy and heaven and hell forbid that actually happen."

Douglas gave him a look, resurrecting an old argument. "If you hate the job so much, why not quit?"

"One, he'd be too smug to live with. Two - I love this job." Chris winked. "I just like bitching about it more. Did you learn anything about her date? I don't recognize him."

"There's no reason you should - he's a guest in the hotel, a visiting businessman from Germany. He and Phillipa met a couple days of go and they say the Devil's Consort is utterly enamored of her latest toy."

"Interesting. That's probably relevant, but it doesn't help me at the moment. Now let's get a move on. You're going to follow her and lead me to where she's disappearing at night."

"Why do I do all the hard work?"

"Because I'm the boss and you're the lackey."

Douglas muttered something beneath his breath.

"What was that?" Chris narrowed his eyes.

"I said yes sir, right away sir." Doug smiled, the picture of obedience, and led the way from the ballroom.

A man dressed in the elaborate burgundy and gold uniform of the hotel stopped them at the doors. "Mr. White, I was told to give this to you." The man bowed and departed without another word.

Chris muttered a few choice words and ripped open the heavy, cream-colored envelope. Tilting it, he tipped out what turned out to be an earring to match the one he was already wearing. "Bastard."

Douglas peered around Chris, pushing up his glasses as he looked at the earring. "Oh, neat. Someone's getting impatient with your sleuthing."

"Shut it." Chris warned, stuffing the earring into a pocket. "Let's hurry up and get this over with."

Snickering softly, Douglas nodded and they continued on their way outside. "So you just want me to follow? When should I contact you?"

Chris grimaced. "Wait for me to contact you - unless it's too dangerous and then warn me before it gets to that point."

"You don't think they'll sense me? Once we're away from the crowds and stuff?"

"Not unless you're getting fat and lazy. Unless it's something of a higher caliber than I'm thinking - and I'm thinking bored children playing games they ought not be playing - then they wouldn't notice you if you started chanting benedictions.

"And if there is something stronger than that involved?"

Chris rubbed his chin, thinking. "Follow anyway. If you get into trouble, you know how to reach me."

Douglas grumbled. "I had better get a bonus for this."

"Like you don't have full access to the stupid bank accounts already. Give yourself whatever bonus you want. Within reason."

"Right!" Douglas suddenly looked much more enthusiastic. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go have a look at the house - and her bedroom." Chris held up a key ring. "Daddy trusts me way too much, I think."

"I think perhaps you came highly recommended."

"Shut it," Chris said in warning.

"I'm gone." Douglas sauntered away into the parking lot, headed for Phillipa's car.

Chris waited until Douglas vanished into the vehicle before turning to head for his own car, a plain black SUV that he stubbornly refused to get rid of despite repeated urgings to do just that. Inside the car, he fumbled around to change out of his monkey suit and into jeans, a blue t-shirt and the soft, worn brown leather jacket he clung to more relentlessly than the SUV. He glared at the earring given to him by the hotel employee. "Don't need your help," he muttered, but shoved the earring into a jean pocket anyway.

The house was dark when he reached it, and a brief examination showed only a couple of guards. The McGovern estate relied mostly upon electronic security.

Which meant this would be a breeze. Chris parked a couple blocks away and walked up to the house. Still a few yards from it, he vanished.

Intangible he passed through the walls and across the lawn. He walked easily through the door and into what turned out to be a kitchen. Continuing on, he made straight for where McGovern had said his daughter's bedroom would be. That was the best place to start - everyone kept their secrets in their sanctuary.

The room looked as it should for a twenty-something rich girl with too much money and leisure. Pastel silk, lace, and so much clothing he was hard-pressed to determine the color of the carpet. He didn't bother to turn a light on. Returning to tangible, he set quietly to work picking through the messy room for things that didn't belong.

And came up empty. Chris glowered at the room, supremely displeased. This was not how he'd wanted to spend his evening. It wasn't how he was supposed to be spending tonight. Losing all patience, he dug out the earring he hadn't really wanted. Fastening it to his left ear, he then lifted his hand to sketch a symbol in the air. It shimmered silver, then glowed bright red and vanished. Around him, the entirety of the room began to take on a faint red glow.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" Chris continued to curse as he left the house, not bothering to go back the way he'd come but simply passing through the wall and lowering himself to the ground below. Still intangible, he made for his car.

Once solidified and in the car, he touched the diamond earring in his right ear. "Douglas!"

At first there was no response, and Chris began to worry despite himself. "Douglas!"

"Sorry, sorry. Wasn't exactly able to reply, Chris. You may want to hurry up and get out here. There's some weird shit going down. Reminds me a lot of when you--"

"Why don't you tell me where you are? That'd help a lot."

"Park. Couple miles east of the lake campground. You can't miss it - chicks dancing around in a demon fire."

"Stay safe, Douglas. Run if you have to."

"No worries there. Should you call for help?"

"No!" Chris shouted. "I don't need his goddamn help."

"Yeah, yeah. See you in a few."

Chris muttered and groused to himself as he drove to the park, words growing more colorful as he parked and began walking from the campground in the direction Douglas had given him. He sensed it before he saw it.

For the rest of his life - and probably beyond - he would always be sensitive to the presence of demon fire.

He slowed down as the feeling grew stronger, going partially invisible to decrease his chances of being seen without using more of his energy than he had to, and approached the clearing with caution.

"Not impressed," he muttered softly, watching the spectacle in the clearing. "Not impressed at all."

"Yeah, these young ones have no class at all. Nothing like when you danced. I didn't even recognize it for what it was at first."

Chris turned to glare at the figure that dropped down soundlessly beside him. Though how he managed the feat, Chris didn't know. It wasn't as though Douglas in his true form was a creature typically given to silence. "I gather you know who the demon is now?"

"Yeah. It was so obvious once I got here, I had to agree with you that this is scarcely worth our time." Douglas shifted on his feet, impatient. His normally bright, glowing eyes had been muted to a dim green and pale gold.

Smiling faintly, Chris examined his assistant. When he'd first found him, Douglas had been nothing but skin and bones and despair. Now the dark gray flesh was filled out with trim muscle, the neatly folded leathery wings now fully functional. And his horns were growing back; though at present they were little more than short, small pointed knobs, in a few more years they would be the proper horns of a mature imp. His heavy tail swished the air as he continued to shift impatiently from foot to foot. "Let me crash the party. You cover, because I have no doubt that someone is going to try something stupid and I've already wasted enough time on this stupid case. I'm so charging him triple for this idiocy."

"Like you need the money."

"That's not the point."

"Of course not."

Chris ignored the tolerant look he knew Douglas was giving him. "Cover me, smart ass."

"I will."

Nodding, Chris stepped from the cover of the forest and approached the idiocy going on in the clearing. He felt the wards set up around the perimeter and bypassed them easily, the earring in left ear shimmering.

Idiocy was really the only word for it. But no - debacle worked as well.

Seven figures occupied the center of the clearing. Five stood at what were the points of a star - a pentacle. Though Chris had no doubt these yahoos liked to call it a pentagram or some such nonsense.

This particular pentacle was probably just dug straight into the earth, then filled with demon fire. All around them the demon fire - this particular fire bright scarlet - burned in a high circle. In the very center of the pentacle two people writhed in what Chris was certain they considered dancing.

Atrocity was more like it, but kids always did what they wanted. He snorted softly at himself, acting like an old man when he was only thirty-one. Forcing his mind to the matters at hand, he started clapping loudly to get their attention.

Seven startled faces turned to look at him, the dancing figures none too pleased. Phillipa frowned, clinging to her date. "What are you doing here?" Her voice, when she spoke, was as hard as ice, completely unlike the honeyed, distracted voice she'd used at the party.

Chris sighed. "Let me guess - this group got into things they shouldn't, you possessed Phillipa and now you're getting too strong to stay in the mortal world undetected."

The woman frowned and said nothing, though her eyes had turned the same scarlet as the fire that burned all around them.

Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket, Chris stepped closer. "Getting too strong and so you thought you'd take a consort. I thought demons were supposed to be smarter about this sort of thing. Or maybe I'm just lucky and know the few smart demons that exist."

The demon narrowed her eyes, releasing the man she'd been clinging to and faced Chris fully. "Who are you?"

"Tsk, tsk, honey. If you live in this city, by now you should have heard of me. The disrespectful call me a spook detective. I prefer paranormal investigator. Phil's dad asked me to check out what his little girl was up to at night. You're really sloppy - then again you are young and stupid. Next time you try something like this, keep in mind that most parents are sensitive when it comes to their children. You should've used a stronger spell than what you're using on them." he motioned the five women standing blankly at the points of the pentacle, distantly recognizing Elise. "And really - you're not strong enough to take a consort. You should've just stuck with spells for a few centuries."

The demon stepped out of the very center of the pentacle, though she didn't leave the circle of fire altogether. "How would you know?"

"It doesn't take a genius, sweetheart." Chris yawned. "First and foremost, only demon lords are strong enough to warrant and take consorts. If you were that powerful, you wouldn't have to hide in a forest and use humans as batteries for the spell. Second, taking a consort requires a lot more than lust and desperation. Given that neither you nor the esteemed Phillipa seem to understand anything beyond that, I won't waste my time explaining why you're doomed to fail. Last but not least - a consort should not be someone as lazy and spoiled as William Claus. There are responsibilities that come with the position - it isn't one that should be given lightly. And it looks like your toy of choice isn't even a willing participant." William's eyes were indeed blank, the man was as unmoving as the five women now that the ceremony had stopped. "Very, very stupid on your part."

Breaking from the circle, the demon launched herself at Chris in a blind rage. He laughed softly as she passed right through him, spinning around to watch as she picked herself up off the ground. "Give it up, baby cakes. You can't touch me."

"What the hell?"

Chris laughed. "Douglas!"

The imp came from above, having hidden up in the trees while Chris talked. In no time at all he had the demon pinned, grinning. "This really isn't much of a demon."

Chris crouched on the balls of his feet, arms propped on his knees. In the light of the demon fire, the diamond on his ring seemed to almost glow silver. He ignored the way the demon's eyes widened, as she caught sight of it. "Nah. She can't be more than a few decades old - otherwise my little trick wouldn't have proved troublesome for her. And look how easily she went down before an immature imp?"

Douglas grumbled at being called immature but did not argue. "So what now?"

"Tie her up or something and then take her back to the office. We'll exorcise the demon in the morning. I'll disperse the rest of this idiocy."

"Sure thing."

"Good. Then I'll see you tomorrow at about nine - make that ten."

Douglas smirked. "Sure thing."

Ignoring the smirk, Chris turned on his heel to take care of the mess created by an impatient, panicky demon. "Children…"

It was hours before he was finally able to return to his apartment. A glance at his watch only depressed him further. Three in the morning. This was so entirely not where he was supposed to be at three in the morning. He combed a hand through his hair, staring miserably into the full-length mirror on his closet door.

The mirror shimmered, rippled, and Chris stared at it a moment before smiling faintly - and stepping through it.

A minute later he stepped out of a larger mirror, into a room that was so simply done it could only be obscenely expensive. Beyond the wide expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows opposite him was a view of the city he called his own. There were so many lights it was hard to believe most of the city slept.

To his right was a massive bed, raised up on a dais. He'd tripped on the steps leading up to it more than once - luckily the bed made for a soft landing.

A fireplace was the focus of the opposite side of the room, casting light on the black leather couches and chair clustered around it. And just out of the light, leaning against the back of the couch, was a man still dressed in the tuxedo he'd been wearing earlier that night. His storm cloud eyes glowed pale silver in the fire-lit room as he stood and approached Chris. In his impatience he had disheveled his hair, causing the neatly arranged curls to cascade wildly around his head and in his face. "Christian," he said by way of greeting, before pulling Chris close and kissing him like a starving man.

Chris didn't protest, merely kissed him back like his life depended on it, tasting wine and something indefinable that always made him think of magic. When the kiss ended, he tilted his head back to give access to the warm mouth that nipped and licked at his throat. "Sable…"

"I know you don't like parties, beloved, but this was a little much." Rising to his full height - a good four inches taller than Chris - Sable sighed. "I was hoping the earring would speed things along." He went back to nibbling at Chris' throat.

"I've told you before not to interfere with my cases," Chris said irritably, not mentioning the fact that the earring had cut his work in half - it would have taken him a lot longer to figure out what the demon possessing Phillipa was up to without it.

Sable shrugged. "I was rather impatient for you to finish."

"I'm sorry," Chris said, irritation fading beneath his guilt. "I can't exactly say no to someone who needs my help. And did you really want another demon and consort floating around your territory?"

Sable laughed, the sound vibrating in his chest. "They thought they could reside in my territory? How amusing. Children are so foolish. You should have told me, beautiful, I would have dealt with the matter and we could have celebrated my birthday properly."

"You're over five hundred, Sable." Christian shook his head in exasperation. "One would think you'd be bored with birthdays by now."

Sable smiled softly, the expression oddly gentle for a demon known to be anything but. "They were boring - until I found a consort to celebrate them with."

Christian's gaze softened and he leaned up to wrap his arms around Sable's neck, silently begging for a kiss that Sable gladly gave. "I'm sorry."

"As you should be," Sable said with a teasing grin. "But I'll forgive you if you'll come to bed and make it up to me."

Rolling his eyes, Christian never the less smiled and allowed Sable to take him to their bed. "I stopped them in the middle of the dance, Sable. It was atrocious - nothing like ours."

Sable's eyes faded to a soft, shimmering gray as he recalled their dance in silver demon fire. "We shall have to dance again, sometime. We've not done it for too long."

"Tomorrow," Chris said, and drew Sable back to the matter at hand.

 

 

Case #131: Devoured

The apartment was on what the norms considered the poor side of town. A good five blocks of city that for all intents and purposes was going, as more than a few cops had said on their routes, 'to hell in a hand basket.'

It was more accurate to say that its occupants had left hell, but no one living there ever saw fit to correct the cops.

The shoddy-looking neighborhood kept most of the humans out, and that kept both the humans and the 'night creatures' happy.

The apartment in question was on the very outskirts of the neighborhood, stopping just a block shy of the river. The neighborhood was often the victim of flooding during the wetter seasons - if the rain didn't stop in another day or so there would be plenty of flooding - but again that meant humans were in no hurry to visit.

Chris' office and apartment were at the opposite end of the neighborhood, right at the edge where poor began to meet rich. But most of his time was spent further in; he knew the streets better than he knew his house sometimes.

"You're Mr. Chesnee?" he asked as he stepped inside, water dripping from his hair and beat up brown leather jacket. He slicked his bright blonde hair back from his eyes, and motioned for Douglas - even more wet than he was - to get his notebook out.

The imp complied, puling out a notebook that was only slightly damp around the edges.

"You're White? Shall I take your coats? Would you like something to drink?"

Chris shook his head. "Just the facts, Mr. Chesnee. If a murder is involved, time is of the essence."

The man bobbed his head up and down, twisting his hand nervously as he led them out of the hallway and into the living room. "Call me Chez, please."

While from the outside everything looked shabby and rundown, the inside was a display of wealth and comfort that never failed to amuse Chris.

Because night creatures usually did very, very well when they played at being humans. Mostly because even Imps lived for many centuries and more than a few creatures were immortal. So outside was nothing but rot and decay, but inside there was silk and velvet, Turkish rugs and butter-soft leather.

Chris remained standing. He cast his eyes about the room, making note of the nervous, unhappy occupants. An older woman with gray hair and pea-green eyes, small round glasses perched on her beak-like nose - a goblin. Beside her on the couch, a young man with half a dozen earrings and an ash-blonde goatee, hair sprayed into stiff spikes, dressed in leather and buckles and mesh - a free vampire. Probably unregistered - he'd have to check that later. Despite the roughness of his appearance, the vampire was still dangerously attractive - but he would be a poor vampire if he wasn't.

Two beautiful young women, twins, with white-blonde hair and clear green eyes, sat in the leather chair opposite the couch. Rather, one sat in the chair and they other sat on an armrest. They were holding hands and looking somber, but upon seeing Chris they brightened considerably. "Chris!" The one on the armrest spoke first.

Her twin spoke next. "We didn't know he called you."

"Well now we feel better."

Chris' lips twitched. "Splish. Splash. How are you?"

"We've been better."

The man who had called Chris looked between the detective and the twins. "You know the river nymphs?"

"Yes," Chris nodded. "They helped me find a necklace, once." He shook his head. "Back to business. You said the owner was murdered in a locked room. Start from the beginning and tell me everything. And I do mean everything."

The man nodded, running a hand through his thin white hair. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed at his small, flat nose - problems or a nervous gesture, it was hard to tell. But he was a brownie; the murder of the 'family' he'd latched onto was, to say the least, upsetting. " Gent invited over a few of his friends," he motioned to the others in the room as he spoke. "To see some new books he'd purchased. They arrived, one by one, and by three o'clock everyone was here and waiting. Gent had arranged the get together for three, but it's not unusual for him to occasionally run late when he has no books. We didn't suspect anything until it got to be four o'clock. When we finally forced the door open he was gone. Most likely dead, given what’s left…”

Splish, the twin sitting in the chair, spoke up. "He was a collector, Chris. Always collecting this or that book on his favorite subject of the week."

"I see," Chris said thoughtfully. Beside him, Doug's pen flew over his notebook as he made notes on what was said, who said, where they sat and whatever other details he could fit on the pages of his small notebook. "And what species was Gent?"

There was a slight pause, then Chez gave a slight cough. "He was human."

"What?" Chris asked, and even Doug's furious writing stuttered to a halt. "He was human? Living here? You’re his friends?"

The goblin woman pursed her lips in disapproval. "And what about you, Mr. Detective?” “You're nothing more than human. Why do you consider it strange that we would be friends with a normal?"

"I don't consider it strange," Chris said. He shot his assistant a warning look and Douglas ceased laughing. "What concerns me is his death. Murdered humans means normals have to get involved in it."

"Not with Gent. He's been out of the normal loop for ages."

"Was he a witch? An alchemist?"

Chez shook his head. "Just a book collector. And he liked us more than humans. There was nothing else special about him."

"Hmm Chris exchanged a look with Douglas, then turned back to the witnesses. "So. He was locked in his study, and an hour after you had all assembled someone finally decided it was weird he was standing all of you up to hole himself up in a locked study?"

Splash shrugged. "It's not too unusual for him, especially with something like this. He'd just acquired some new books and wanted to show them off. But before he ever shows anyone anything, he examines and catalogues everything."

"That requires locking the door?" Chris asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Chez said. "Those books are worth several million dollars, monetarily. But their real worth is much, much greater. Alchemical manuals, spell books, grimoires - all of them rare, hard to find, a few almost legendary. You can imagine the value.”

Chris winced.

"Exactly," Chez said. "So he disguised the books and catalogued them according to his own special system. So trying to find the book you want is impossible except for Gent."

"What a headache." Chris sighed. "So after you five sat here for an hour, it finally occurred to you to open the door?"

"Yes."

"All right. I would like it if you all remained here, for further questioning." Chris motioned for Douglas to follow him. "Come on, Doug."

Still clutching his notebook, Doug followed quietly behind Chris. He ignored the curious looks of the other creatures in the room, especially the curled lip of the goblin woman on the couch.

Inside the book room, Chris closed the door. "Early thoughts?"

Douglas shrugged. "It's possible someone out there is responsible, but I doubt it. Nymphs and vampires have no need of such things, and it doesn't seem like a goblin's style." He frowned, thinking. "Assuming it was somehow an outside job - why kill him? It would be easier to wait until he was asleep or out of the apartment."

Chris was examining the perimeter of the room. "It doesn't make sense, that's for certain. It's also peculiar that any one of them could have used magical means to check on him - but they didn't. They forced the door open manually. I wonder why? Remind me to ask them."

Douglas pulled out his notebook again and then tucked it away as they began to explore the small room in earnest, his mismatched eyes intent on picking out anything strange or out of place.

It was probably intended to be a bedroom, but the deceased Gent had crammed it full of floor-to-ceiling bookcases, all but one neatly filled with books of various color, shape, size and condition. Chris laughed softly as he read the visible title on one. "I wonder which book he decided to disguise as Call of the Wild. A bestiary, you think?"

"Or a practical guide to something," Douglas said with a laugh. "Maybe something to do with werewolves."

"Hmm hope he's more creative than that." Chris looked around the room, rubbing his chin in thought. "See anything?"

"No, actually. Except, you know, for the blood and the finger."

Chris nodded, finally taking a longer look at the old leather chair behind the desk set in the middle of the room. "If I didn't now any better, I would say someone ate him."

"The goblin?" Douglas muttered, shoving at his glasses.

Chris smiled faintly. "Nah. A goblin would make a huge mess, but it would never leave a piece of dinner behind. I suppose I should be wondering where she gets her meals.”

"Better not to ask, for now," Doug said regretfully. "'Sides, as much as I hate to say it, Chris - she doesn't look the type to eat a friend."

"Well, we've more or less established that none of them killed him. As per usual with a locked room, it's always something so painfully obvious you don't see it."

Doug rolled his eyes. "Like what? A book?"

"Not that obvious," Chris said with a snort. He gingerly pushed the chair aside to examine the papers and miscellany scattered across the desk. Set just off the center of the desktop was a ledger full of nonsensical writing - no doubt the catalogue. "I'm confused."

"It took you this long to think there was something weird going on?"

"Shut it," Chris replied without heat. He picked up the ledger and flipped idly through it as he spoke. "But think about it. A perfectly normal human - as normal as they get anyway - collects magic books but clearly has no interest in practicing magic. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he also forbids its usage in his house. Even his brownie didn't seemed inclined toward using magic to maintain the house - this place has the smell of cleaners and air freshener about it. A good brownie doesn't need such things."

Douglas nodded. "And it's obvious magic had something to do with his death."

"Confusing, to say the least." Giving up on the incomprehensible ledger, he set it down exactly as he'd found it and picked up a smaller, leather bound volume. Flipping it open revealed it was an appointment book. "Meticulous in all things. This guy was rather busy for a stuffy old collector." Thoughtfully Chris flipped back to examine everything Gent had done starting a month ago. He paused when he came to the day before, looking up at Douglas. "'Shipment due,' this says. 'Four o'clock.'"

"Suppose that's the shipment?" Douglas nodded toward a stack of two small boxes on the side of the desk nearest him.

Chris stepped around the desk to examine them for himself. "Probably." He looked at the appointment book again and turned a page until he was at the 'notes' section for that month. "Yeah, here it is ait a second. This says three boxes due at four o'clock nd he made an addendum that all went well, beyond their arriving an hour late.

"So where's the third box?"

"Exactly." Chris flipped back to the calendar page and looked at the notes for that day.

"Showing for friends: SS, VT, RG, SB." Chris' idle curiosity narrowed to focus on a single point. "Why are there five people listed?"

Douglas shrugged. "Maybe one couldn't show?"

"Let's go find out." Keeping the appointment book, Chris stalked back into the living room.

The assembled night creatures sat quietly, murmuring in low voices as though anything truly audible would offend or incriminate. It would have been eerie, to see them so stone-faced and apparently uncaring, except that Chris was long used to the stoic way night creatures dealt with such things. Sobbing and wailing and crying would have been offensive, tacky.

It showed how fond they were of a simple human, that they treated his death with such dignity. "Which one of you is VT?"

The goblin woman looked up from the cup of tea in her long, spidery hands. "I am. Vena Tetler."

Chris nodded. "RG?"

"Me," said the vampire. "Ron."

Chris eyed the twins. "I'm going to hazard you two are 'SS'."

The twins nodded.

"All right. Then who is 'SB' and why is he not here?"

His brows went up when everyone in the room jumped. Vena shook her head slowly back and forth. "We didn't know he was coming. He's usually too busy."

"This says he was expected."

"Then he may have come and gone before the rest of us."

Chris looked. "You would know, brownie. Did he drop by?"

Chez shrugged. "Mr. B comes and goes as he pleases. Sometimes I know it, sometimes I don't."

"What did I say before?" Chris snapped, annoyed. "I told you to tell me everything. Everything is not the same as 'almost everything.' It is slightly more than very important to tell me that Gent was known to have a visitor who came and went as he pleased, sometimes observed, sometimes not. Would anyone like to tell me why this B is allowed such free reign when it's obvious to me you're not allowed to use magic on the premises? And while you're explaining things to me, explain that."

The twins looked contrite. Splish spoke up first. "We're not really supposed to talk about him. He's high class. You never see his sort on this side of town - he lives in the city proper."

Splash nodded and picked up where her sister stopped. "He's not really a friend of Gent's. More, he gets - got - Gent to find things for him. Sometimes when Gent obtained a particular book, he'd purchase it. That's how Gent could afford all this." She waved her hand around the lavish room. "And more books."

Doug interrupted. "Can I ask why a human so avidly collected magic books when he had no interest in practicing the arts?"

Chez gave a long, tired sigh. "His wife was a witch. She was actually the one who started collecting grimoires, but she died when a spell went wrong one night. After that, Gent banned magic but started collecting the books."

"I see," Chris said quietly. "Where can I find this Mr. B? A full name would be helpful as well."

Ron started laughing. "Sure man - only don't let him kill us, yeah? We're not really supposed to know he comes by."

"I'll do my best," Chris said, growing annoyed. "Now who is Mr. B and where can I find him?"

Chez sighed. "His name is Sable Brennus - and I'm sure that's all you need to find him."

Chris swore.

*~*~*~*

"So how exactly does one ask a demon if he committed murder?" Douglas asked as they stood just outside the Sunrise, the most impressive of four luxury hotels owned by Sable Brennus. "Well, a particular murder."

Chris muttered a few curses as they stepped under the overhang and shook out his umbrella, which really hadn't succeeded in keeping him from a soaking - there was simply too much rain. "From a distance?" he asked sourly. "How do I get caught up in these things?"

Douglas looked around the lobby as they entered, eyes wide behind his glasses as he took in the large fountain at the center, the profusion of smaller fountains and lush plants, the glittering guests and sharp-looking employees. "Demons don't usually acquire this much affluence. And is all of the staff night creatures?"

"Seeing as at least half the guests are night dwellers, it only makes sense. And no, normal demons aren't usually quite this affluent." Chris' demeanor soured further. "Brennus, however, is a demon lord. The city and land for several miles around is his territory. It's bordered on three sides - by another demon to the west and south, a werewolf pack to the north and a vampire clan to the east."

"Hmm Douglas shifted restlessly. If he'd been in his true form, his wings would have flapped agitatedly on his back. "So this is probably a bad idea?"

Chris snorted. "To say the least. But he fits the murder, assuming we can deduce a motive. If he's half so old as I think he is, then he's looking for a cover, which would explain his interest in the books Gent collected."

"A cover?" Doug's brows furrowed in confusion. "Oh. You mean a consort." He blinked. "I didn't even think about that."

"He's powerful, wealthy, reclusive and buys obscure magic books from a human," Chris said dryly. "I'm going to hazard he's growing desperate for stalling mechanisms before staying here without a consort becomes impossible." He ran his fingers through his wet, messy hair. "Now let's quit chatting and stalling and get this over with."

But inside he slowed to a halt. "Stay down here, Doug. It's going to take more than smiles and charm to get in to see him and I don't want both of us getting flayed alive by an annoyed demon."

"And how am I supposed to know if things go well or not?"

"If all goes well, I'll come downstairs healthy and alive." Chris rolled his eyes, lips twisting in a reluctant smile. "If they don't go well, I'll have more in common with my father than ever."

Doug smothered a laugh. "Gotcha, boss. Until then?"

"Poke around, see if there aren't any interesting rumors about our friend Brennus."

"Will do."

Nodding, more to himself than Doug, Chris turned on his heel and climbed the stairs from the lobby to the second floor, turning down hallways until he found an empty one.

And immediately dropped completely out of sight. Invisible, intangible, he backtracked to the elevators and rode up as far as he could. On the forty-fifth floor, he switched to the stairs, passing through the door and climbing easily until they stopped at the fiftieth floor.

Passing through, he found himself in a hallway far more subdued than the lavish red and gold of downstairs. Here everything was blue and silver-gray, with dark plants and near-black wood for accents. Soft lights lit the hallway in which he stood, and Chris felt like he was in the middle of the rain clouds still soaking the city outside. From the double doors behind him he could just barely hear a woman talking rapidly on the phone - probably a secretary or something, as this had the feel of an office.

Another set of dark double doors was before him, bare of even so much as a nameplate - or doorknobs.

Good thing he didn't need them.

Chris passed through the doors with ease, faintly feeling the tingling of wards that could not affect something that was not really there.

His limited abilities weren't good for much, but they were good for enough.

Rain pounded against the wide expanse of windows that looked down over the city below, a steady drumming that should have been soothing but instead only echoed the pounding of Chris' heart.

He was a simple detective; in the five years since he'd turned solo his biggest case involved a pup from a werewolf pack - and that had been a simple matter of finding something stolen. His encounters with demons had been limited to passing them in the street. Demons, werewolves and most vampires simply didn't mingle with lesser night creatures.

It wasn't often someone dared accuse a demon of murder, except in jest. Demons could do whatever the hell they wanted. Few would dare to try, and less than that would succeed.

There was clearly someone in the large chair behind the massive desk straight ahead, but he was turned away, watching the rain-drenched city.

But as Chris stepped closer, the chair spun around. "Someone is here."

And Chris was so shaken by that voice, so startled by what he saw, that he forgot to hold his ghostly form.

The demons he'd glimpsed from time to time had never caught his eye. They'd been handsome, interesting, but never half so beautiful as the one sitting so calmly behind a desk. And it shouldn't surprise him, because if vampires used beauty to catch prey then why not demons? But no vampire - and those he saw plenty of - had ever been so aptivating. Stern looking, a solemn sort of beauty seen only in paintings. And his eyes echoed the clouds outside, a gray that was a mix of dark and light, framed by thick, black curls. And Chris distantly recalled his name was Sable, and wondered if his hair felt as soft as that.

Chris' mother loved concerts, loved to sing. All her chants and prayers were sung as clear and pure as a bell, and thanks to her obsession with song Chris had heard more famous singers by the time he was thirteen than most people saw in a lifetime. But no voice ever affected him the way this one did. Three simple words and his heart pounded faster than ever, in his throat, and he ached to hear it again.

Brennus obliged, curiosity coloring the rough velvet timbre of his voice. "And who might you be, beautiful? An early dinner?" Slowly he rose to his feet, walking around the desk and toward Chris.

The word dinner restored some of Chris' senses, and he fought the urge to take several steps back as he forced his mind to the case. "I've come about Gent."

" Gent?" Brennus paused. "Why are you here about Gent?"

Chris began to feel more stable as his job reasserted itself in his mind, though the demon's voice took effort to ignore. "Someone or something ate him. My investigations have led me to believe you were the last person to see him."

Brennus frowned. "I was the last to see him. Or at least what was left of him. What are you, some sort of detective?"

"Yes. Chez, Gent's servant, asked me to investigate his death."

Brennus laughed, and Chris fought the urge to shiver. He took a step back as Brennus reached him. "So you've come here to accuse me of his murder?"

"Yes."

"That's a pity."

Chris realized the door was in his way when he hit it and stifled a curse. He narrowed his eyes up at the demon looming over him. This wasn't going exactly as he'd planned. "Do you have an alibi? A good excuse? You said he was dead when you saw him - any idea what happened?"

"Of course I know what happened. I warned him to be careful, but humans will do as they please."

Losing patience, seriously annoyed, yes annoyed, with the demon's proximity, Chris reached out to shove him away—

--And instead found himself even more thoroughly pressed back against the door. "Let me go."

"You invaded my office, accused me of murder and now just tried to assault me--"

Chris snorted.

"--And you think I should let you go?" Brennus laughed, eyes turning dark, heated, when Chris failed to repress a shiver. "Sorry, beautiful. You wandered in here - accept the consequences."

Chris fought to ignore him. "How did Gent die? What did you do?"

"Me? I did nothing except take the book away. Feed it too many times and bad, bad things begin to happen."

"Feed Chris blinked. "What are you talking about? Books don't eat!"

"Now, now, beautiful. Only so many questions are free and you've reached your limit."

Chris muttered a curse about losing his wits and dropped to his intangible form.

--Then realized it wasn't working. "Shit!"

Brennus laughed again, hand tightening on Chris' wrists where he had them pressed up against the door. "Fascinating. How is it you're able to do that? Only ghosts are capable of such things."

"None of your business," Chris snapped. "How is it you're able to hold me anyway?"

"One does not live to be almost five hundred without picking up a few tricks, beautiful"

"Stop calling me that!"

Chuckling, Brennus ducked his head to chuckle in Chris' ear. "Why? Gold hair, eyes like an angry sea, skin damp with rain ou are quite, quite lovely." His tongue flicked out to lap at Chris' still-drying skin.

"Let me go!"

"For a price, beautiful. And if you pay generously enough, perhaps I'll tell you what happened to Gent as well."

Chris said nothing, merely jerked his head away from the teeth at his ear, shivering and hating himself for it. "Let me go," he repeated mutinously.

"Never," Brennus replied, and then he was kissing him and Chris wished suddenly that he'd ignored the damn phone just like he'd wanted and not let Douglas go ahead and answer it.

Because Brennus' lips were soft and his mouth hot, flavored with fine whiskey and something else, tangy and sharp, and Chris thought dizzily that if magic had a flavor that would be it. And then he realized he was free, or maybe caught more than ever, because Brennus' hair was as soft as his namesake implied and the hands stroking him felt more right and welcome than he was comfortable admitting.

He broke away; desperate for air and a clear head - though looking up into storm-cloud eyes he thought perhaps the latter was a thing of the past. But his wits gathered enough that he was able to go intangible and slip away, though stupidly he went forward rather than back, meaning he had nowhere but deeper into the room to go.

Brennus licked his lips. "I had no idea spook detectives were among the highly edible."

Chris got pissed. "I am not a spook detective; why the hell does everyone call me that? Damnation, all I wanted to do was determine a cause of murder. Stay over there so I can think."

Brennus approached. " Gent was eaten by a book. A very hungry, very dangerous book that I told him not to mess with. He ignored me and obtained it anyway. I asked him to wait until I arrived to examine it but …” He shrugged. "Humans will do as they please."

Chris attempted to head toward the doors again, but realized he was being herded toward the eastern-most wall. "What manner of book eats people?"

"A very hungry one. And I shouldn't get too close to those bookcases, beautiful, else you'll get nipped."

Chris glowered. "No, that's if I get too close to you."

Brennus threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, but I won't take a fatal bite. That book will. It can only be opened by demons, as it was a very angry, very hungry demon from which the book was made. It devours whoever else tries to touch it."

Chris stayed away from the bookcases, still trying to make for the door. "Fine. Case closed. Thank you for your time, have a nice day." He dropped to invisibility and barely resisted the urge to run.

Brennus caught him anyway, and Chris resentfully resumed his normal form. "No fair being able to do that."

For answer, Brennus simply kissed him dizzy again, hard and deep, bruising his lips. Chris was torn between wanting it to stop and wanting it to continue.

"Give me a name, beautiful," Brennus murmured. "And I'll let you go for a little while."

"You'll let me go name or no name," Chris protested, but it was a weak one.

Brennus laughed, fingers seeking and finding the flesh beneath Chris' damp clothes. "So are you saying you want to stay?"

"Damn it," Chris managed, twisting away - though only because Sable let him. "Christian," he bit out. "Christian White."

Brennus reached out and gripped his chin, dragging him close for one more kiss. "A pleasure to meet you, Christian." He let Chris go. "You may call me Sable."

Chris said nothing, merely turned and fled. Brennus' voice caught him at the door. "I'm letting you go for now, Christian. But the next time you enter my hotel, I plan to keep you."

Unable to form a reply, Chris dropped to invisibility and escaped.

Downstairs, he ignored Douglas' questions until they were nearly back to the apartment where Chez and the late Gent's friends waited. "So what happened, boss? Did you get an answer?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Chris said tightly. "Not until I reach the liquor cabinet back at the office."

Douglas ' eyebrows hit his hairline at that. "Demon scare you that bad?"

"Something like that," Chris muttered.

 

Case #322: Family Matters

"For the love of all that is holy and unholy shut her the hell up."

Douglas cast his boss a withering glance. "Oh, yeah. And what would you like me to do after that? Bring harmony to the relationships between all normals and abnormals?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

Douglas threw his pewter paperweight at Chris' head.

Chris ducked, ignoring the dent it left in the wall behind him. It was already so dented one more wasn't going to make a difference. He slammed a fist down on his desk. "Enough! Stop talking!" He glared as the chattering stopped. "Good. Now stop breathing."

"You're always so mean to me," Phillipa pouted.

"Yes," Chris said pleasantly. "I keep hoping it will drive you away."

Phillipa waved his words away with a delicate flick of her manicured nails. "I’m not that easy to get rid of."

Chris bit back a reply, but only just.

"I'm made of stronger stuff, and I'll not give up until you give in to me."

She was hard to take seriously, not least of all because of the pink tank top, a skirt that looked like someone had spilled rainbow cake sprinkles across it and matching stilettos. Chris was willing to concede that at least she could walk in the damn shoes - but that didn't excuse the fact she was wearing them. And there was no excuse - or physical explanation - for the mix of curls, braids and twists in which her hair was piled atop her head. He glanced down at the report he was attempting to write for their last case, but Phillipa was as hard to ignore as she was to take seriously.

Valiantly Douglas stood to start filing away old reports and cost sheets, as the two of them struggled to ignore the mix of tirade and adoration that was rapidly become Phillipa's two o'clock speech.

"You really should put those flowers in water," she said by way of a finish, frowning in disapproval at the way Chris had left the bouquet of tiger lilies she'd brought him laying on the sofa that was straight across from Doug's desk. Chris' desk was between Doug's and the couch, directly opposite the main door. He wondered if he could clear the desk and shove her out before Phillipa caught on.

Probably not.

"Men. You think they'll live just because they belong to you?" Muttering her severe disapproval, Phillipa set about putting the tiger lilies she'd brought Chris in water, dumping out the gardenias she'd brought the week before. The vase, a heavy crystal piece, belonged to her. She'd brought it after she realized neither Chris nor his assistant had any intention of purchasing a vase in which to properly display her flowers. "Honestly, you don't just leave gifts lying about. Flowers should be nurtured, given lots of attention."

Chris' brows went up; the words were completely out of synch with the girl uttering them.]

"Much like a young woman."

His surprise vanished. "We've been over this before, Phil--"

"You even gave me a nickname! And not 'Philly' either." Phillipa wrinkled her nose. "That one makes me sound like a horse. I've told Daddy time and time again to stop calling me that, but does he ever listen?" She gave a long sigh, shaking her head as though she carried a heavy burden. "No. And so everyone thinks I'm a horse."

Chris smothered a laugh. "I seriously doubt anyone would mistake you for a horse, Phil."

"More like a pecking hen," Doug muttered, but only Chris could hear him.

Coughing, Chris looked pleadingly at Phillipa. "Please, Phil. Go home. We've got work to do and it's hard to do it if you're in here chatting and getting in our way."

"Then I won't get in your way," Phillipa said smoothly. She strode to Chris' desk and set the vase of flowers down, tweaking a few and then stepping back, pleased. "Would anyone like some coffee? Tea?"

Douglas looked at her, startled. "You know how to make coffee?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I order it from Perfect Perc."

"Do they deliver?"

"No.”

Chris smiled and slammed a twenty down on the desk. "Then by all means go get us coffee - Doug prefers Thai, though. I'll take a cappuccino and get yourself whatever you like."

"All right!" Phil beamed, grabbed the money and vanished.

Silence fell, as they watched the door. Doug blinked. "That was awfully easy.”

Chris frowned. "Yes, it was."

But before he even finished speaking, Phil had barged back into the office. "There! I sent William to get us coffee."

Chris banged his forehead against his desk for a good minute or two. Finally he sat up with a long sigh, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his aching head. "Phil, this is an office. We work for a living. Not all of us have your leisure time. If you're going to insist on pestering us to death every single day, you're going to have to learn the rules and abide by them. Is that understood?"

Phillipa blinked. Nodded. Waited for him to continue.

Warily, more than a little surprised - for the past three months she'd cheerfully ignored him whenever he tried to order her around - Chris continued. "The first rule is - no servants. We do our own work. If you want to get us coffee? Fine. From now on you get us coffee. When you visit? William stays at home."

Clearly the young woman wanted to argue but rather than immediately launching into the sort of obnoxious argument to which they'd grown accustomed, she chewed on her lip and thought. "What other rules?" she asked at last.

"Um Chris exchanged a startled glance with Doug, who held up his hands to signal Chris was on his own. "You can't just hang around and talk. If you're going to stay here, you have to help. Tidy up the office, answer the phone assist Doug with the filing. Things like that."

"You want me to work?" Phil asked, horrified.

"Yes."

"Any more rules?"

Chris nodded. "You do what I say. This isn't a safe job, Phil. We got lucky with the demon that possessed you. There are risks; a very good chance you'll get harassed or chased, bitten or a lot worse."

Phil’s bitter laugh startled both men, and they exchanged another glance. "I've had worse done to me by human men - and I won't say I didn't deserve some it." In a flash she'd gone back to her normal, more upbeat self. "So if I listen to the rules does that mean you'll let me stay and try to win you over?"

"You can't win me over, Phil. I told you – I’m taken."

"Yeah, yeah. By a man that never calls or visits. Heard that one before." Phil winked. "So what do I do now?

Chris grinned. "How about you learn the fine art of fetching food for yourself? Doug will be happy to show you where our favorite bakery is. After that you can go on your own. When you get back, he'll show you the ropes around the office."

The look Doug sent him behind Phil's back was nothing short of murderous. "And where are you going, boss?" Doug asked pleasantly.

"Duty calls," Chris said smugly, rubbing the diamond earring in his left ear.

"I'm sure." Doug stuck his tongue out. "And I'm so giving myself a bonus for this."

"You give yourself a bonus for everything," Chris groused.

Doug grinned. "It's more like a continuing bonus for putting up with the likes of you."

"Out," Chris ordered. "And bring me back something with berries." He took a deep breath and released it slowly, enjoying the blissful silence of his empty office.

At least until the phone rang.

Chris let fly with several curses - some of them harmless, some of them potentially lethal. He picked up the phone ready to send the caller screaming in fear -- but stopped short. "Mom? What's wrong?"

Five minutes later he grabbed his jacket and ran from the office, flying down the street for the opposite end of town.

"Doug," Chris spoke aloud to the air, not waiting for the imp's reply. "Take care of the terror and then get to my parents' house. Some sort of problem, my mom wants our help."

"Got it boss," Doug's voice said in his ear.

Chris phased through the iron gate of his parents' home, not phasing back until he was through the front door as well. He nearly ran through his father, who’d been waiting for him in the hallway. "Dad? Where's mom? What's wrong?"

His father's concerned expression turned to relief when he saw his son. "Chris."

"Dad? Is mom okay?"

"She's fine. Calm down. They're in the sitting room."

Chris nodded and followed his father through the wall, into the family room at the back of the house. It was his second favorite room in the house.

Everything was black. From the soft suede couch, the matching loveseat and chair, the soft carpet - as a child he'd called it the squishy carpet - and even the side and coffee tables. The walls, the trim - everything was black. But then his mother had gone through and added bright lamps with stained-glass shades. Lights set in the ceiling caught on special sun catchers and cast flecks of color everywhere. Over the couch was a bright red blanket, over the loveseat a blue, and a brilliant yellow had taken over the chair. By the time his mother had finished with her 'rainbow sitting room' it was hard to tell the room had started with a black base.

It was the one room in the house reserved exclusively for the family - even his mother's closest friends were not permitted in the rainbow room.

Except now there was a stranger. "Chris," his mother said when she saw him, relief flooding her face. The woman in her arms looked up at him, and Chris felt as though he'd been punched.

Because as much as she was a stranger, she was also incredibly familiar. Though her hair was white, her face lined with wrinkles, the woman in black slacks and a knit purple sweater was the spitting image of his mother.

Glenys coughed, and managed to smile despite whatever was upsetting her. "Chris, this is Trina. Your grandmother."

"What’s going on here?" Chris asked coldly.

His mother's smile faded. "Chrissie…”

"You called me over here in a state of panic to help her? Why?"

His father's ghostly touch whispered across his shoulder. "Calm down, Chris."

"Make me."

"Chris."

"No," Chris said vehemently. "I won't do it. She comes crying for help and you expect me to forget some thirty-odd years of being ignored? Of seeing you cry when you had to do your rituals alone? When no one called or wrote on your birthday? Of the dead silence we got in reply to cards and letters and pictures? Three decades they spent pretending we didn't exist. And now you call me over here to help her? Forget it."

Glenys' angry frown was the mirror image of her son's. "And you think your leaving them to die is going to make things better? Will undo what they did? Make it better? No, Chris. I raised you better than that. Pain is not eased by more pain, it is eased with care."

"Not always," Chris muttered.

"That's enough." Glenys turned pleading. "For me, Chris? Please? Do it for me."

"God damn it." Chris ignored the look his father sent him, for using such language in front of women. "That's. Not. Fair." But he moved further into the sitting room and sat in the armchair. "Wait until Doug gets here."

His mother nodded.

Just as the tense silence began to grow unbearable Douglas appeared in the doorway, red hair disheveled from the speed at which he’d been running. He took one look at the woman beside Glenys and then moved to stand beside Chris’ seat, silently pulling out his notebook.

“You…you’re not human, are you?” Trina asked slowly. “Your glamour doesn’t hide your aura.”

Douglas was impressed despite himself. “You can see auras?”

“Can we get down to business, please?” Chris snapped.

A moment of silence, and Glenys glared at her son.

Chris stifled a sigh and spoke more calmly. “This is Douglas, he’s my right hand. If you have any problems with him, this meeting is over.”

Trina nodded in understanding. “Please, continue.”

“Tell me what happened, leave no detail out. No matter how small, how silly it seems to you. Tell me everything.”

“It started about a month ago,” Trina said slowly. “A couple was passing through, clearly moving, not married very long. The young woman was a witch, and they’d been on the road for some time so we invited her to one of our meetings. She seemed a nice little thing, and here husband was wholly accepting, friendly – a professor of literature. And she enjoyed it so much, and they seemed to fit right in, that they decided to stay on.”

Chris nodded, as Douglas’ pen flew across his pages. Glenys held her mother’s hand, soothing the obviously strained, exhausted woman. “Everything seemed perfectly normal for the next couple of weeks.” Trina closed her eyes. “Then little things started going wrong – items missing, witches accusing each other of silly, petty little things. It would start to ease, then suddenly take a turn for the worse. Two days ago, three of my oldest sisters broke code and got into a nasty fight. And then last night I was accused of practicing black magic – all because I came down hard on them.”

“…But they can’t simply accuse you of black magic. They must have some sort of circumstantial evidence.”

Trina nodded. “Pictures,” she said. “Pictures of Gleny, and you. The letters your mom’s been sending me over the years.”

Chris was silent. “Tell me more about this couple.”

“There…there isn’t much to tell really. They’re completely innocuous.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as strange?” Chris shook his head. “Never mind. You mentioned you could sense auras – what were their auras like?”

“Her aura was perfectly normal; that of an average witch. His was a bit gloomier, but I think that had to do with his being sick.”

Chris glowered. “His being sick is a detail I asked you not to leave out. What’s wrong with him?”

“They weren’t sure. That’s part of the reason for their move – to find a cure. They thought it might be the environment where they lived. A big city, all the smog and pollution and noise. They wanted to move to a smaller city – big enough for good jobs but not so crowded and noisy. This city is perfect. But they liked our small town so much…”

Chris steepled his fingers, thinking. “What sort of items went missing?”

“Just some minor trinkets. The sort that mean a lot to one person, but aren’t valuable otherwise. Knickknacks, old costume jewelry, things of that nature.”

Douglas had stopped writing, his pensive frown a match for Chris’. “Boss…”

“Yes,” Chris said grimly. “Tell me again about the young witch’s aura.”

Trina looked at him in confusion. “Like I said, it was perfectly normal. Nothing remarkable about it.”

“And she was pleasant? A good witch? Perfectly amiable?”

“Yes. What are you getting at?”

Glenys tilted her head, looking at her son. “What have you figured out Chris?”

“I’ve figured out this isn’t a job for a detective,” Chris said heavily. “Your town was put under a spell the moment that couple entered. There was no way you could ever have seen it coming or prevented it.”

“Ridiculous,” Trina protested. “I would have noticed someone casting a spell on my entire town.”

“Not if they did it well before they arrived, and not if it was a sorcerer strong enough to create and control zombies doing it.”

“Zombies?” Glenys repeated in real fear.

“Yes,” Chris said flatly. Soulless dolls created and manipulated by skilled sorcerers. A sorcerer who knew his business could make them indistinguishable from real people. “And my guess is that he’s attempting to make your town a power base.”

Trina and Glenys frowned. “Why?” Glenys asked. “You must be mistaken, Chris. There’s nothing for a sorcerer here, not with a demon…” Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Chris stood up. “Stupid f—sorcerers.” He ignored his father’s warning look. “One more question – how did you get out? His spell should have made it impossible for you to even think about escaping.”

Trina reached up to touch something beneath her dark purple sweater.

Chris frowned, touching his right earring briefly. He narrowed his eyes at her, surprised. “You’re wearing a black magic amulet. Not much black magic…probably too little for the sorcerer to sense or care about…why?”

With heavy reluctance, Trina pulled the amulet beneath her sweater free.

Chris’ stony expression turned carefully blank. He turned away. “If that damn – dratted -- sorcerer thinks he’s going to get a foothold in Sable’s territory, he’s got another think coming.” The diamond on his left hand glimmered in the light. “This isn’t detective business. This is—“ He looked at Trina defiantly. “This is Consort business. I’ll be back. C’mon, Doug.” He didn’t waste time with the doors, but passed directly through the wall back out into the hallway.

They were silent as they hit the streets. “She doesn’t seem a bad sort, really…” Doug said at last.

“Drop it, Imp.”

“What was that weird little amulet she had? I’m surprised it had any power at all.”

Chris’ expression remained blank, though barely, as he recalled the silly, childish looking amulet his…Trina had been wearing. He’d made it from plaster in third grade, so proud to make things for everyone in his family. It was shaped like a pumpkin and clumsily painted with orange and green paint – he’d worked really hard on painting the stupid little pumpkin stem. He’d told his mom to tell ‘grandma’ that it was a good luck charm. “Nothing.”

Douglas rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. So what do you think Sable’s going to do when he hears there’s a sorcerer attempting to take over his territory?”

“Nothing, because we’re not going to tell him. I can handle it just fine.” Chris shot Douglas a look. “My mom’s old hometown is right at the edge of Sable’s territory. He wouldn’t be as strong there – I will be. And he’d just get carried away anyway, you know how he is.”

“Possessive?” Doug grinned. “He’ll probably get involved anyway.”

“Only if you open your big mouth.”

Douglas laughed. “So how are we getting there?”

“If you don’t shut up, you can fly us there. Otherwise we’ll just take the easy way – though we’ll still have to walk a bit as appearing too close will give us away and I don’t want him knowing anything until it’s too damn late for him.” Chris stared at his ring, focusing intently until the deep, underlying glimmer of magic faded and his ring looked like nothing more than an overlarge, no doubt overly expensive diamond. He did the same to his left earring, then reached out to grab hold of the sleeve of Doug’s jacket.

They vanished.

They reappeared a couple miles south of a small village Chris had grown up hearing about – enough that he knew where it was – but had never seen, except in the two scrapbooks his mother had taken with her when she’d left.

In silence they began walking toward the village. “So how are we going to explain being able to get through whatever barrier this sorcerer has set up?” Doug paused. “I suppose we should have bothered to get his name or something.”

“No point,” Chris said idly. “I don’t plan on knowing him long enough to warrant learning his name.”

Douglas grinned. “You’re as possessive as Sable is, when it comes to his territory.”

“It’s Sable’s domain,” Chris shot the imp a warning glance. “It’s my job to help see to it that no one problematic gets his greedy little claws on it. Especially a cowardly, lazy sorcerer who uses a clan of witches to form the beginnings of his attack force or whatever.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “He probably wants them for healing properties and such. Which is actually pretty smart of him – most don’t think to cover defense first. Useless, in the end, but still pretty smart.” He was silent a moment. “So far as getting past the barrier goes, we’ll just let him think that was all your doing.” Chris touched his right earring, muting it like he had his other two diamonds.

“Does that mean I can look like myself?” Douglas asked.

Chris smiled. “You know I wouldn’t care if you walked around without your glamour.”

Doug dropped his glamour, stretching his leathery, dark grey wings with relish. “I know, but whenever people realize you’ve got an imp for an assistant—“

“A protégé,” Chris corrected sternly. “You’re my protégé. I’d trust you to find me if I went missing.”

The imp beamed, the expression strange but oddly sweet on his smooth, dark gray skin. His glowing, mismatched green and yellow eyes were bright and happy. Chris reached up to lightly touch one his horns, which were long enough now that they were beginning to curve up and slightly back. “Another couple of months and you’ll reach your maturity – then anyone that laughs at you can be sent straight to a smoldering oblivion.”

Douglas laughed. “I don’t think doing that would be good for business…” His steps were nearly soundless on the road along which they walked. Doug was oddly quiet even for an imp, a race which, though not purposely given to noise, usually could not help it with their large wings and heavy tails – and their magic, which was impressive for a creature considered fairly low on the totem pole of abnormal creatures. When Douglas finally reached his maturity, his magic would triple, possibly quadruple, in power. Their magic, even immature, was adept enough that many humans with the knowledge and ability to catch and entrap them often referred to them as a ‘poor man’s genie.’ Others, with less skill or patience, simply captured them and sawed off the horns that contained an imp’s power.

Luckily, he’d gotten to Douglas before things got that bad. “It might actually improve business, as it would get rid of all the idiots asking me to find their lost pets.”

“Don’t count on it,” Douglas said with another grin. “Is that our sorcerer’s den, up ahead?” He reassumed his glamour.

Chris nodded, face tensing. Still a few dozen yards from the first large group of buildings that marked the city proper, the pair felt a brief wash of cold as they stepped through a magical barrier with ease.

The small town was quiet – way too quiet. It was much like any other small town Chris had visited, despite his efforts never to leave the city if he could help it. People milled about, the shops and cafes about as crowded and busy as was typical for a Saturday.

Perfectly normal.

“Where is he?” Chris asked tightly, not liking the vibes he could sense even with all his magic talismans muted. It made him want to ghost, and stay invisible as long as possible.

Douglas frowned, concentrating. “There,” he said at last, pointing down a street as they reached the corner. “A house that way. I can’t pinpoint where exactly yet.” He looked askance at some of the natives who were watching him while surreptitiously going about their perfectly ordinary lives. “How many zombies are there, anyway? I can sense at least fifty just in this area.”

“I’m sure by now he’s got at least every witch and most of the normals. It really is aggravating the way witches don’t permit abnormals within their cities.”

“Isn’t it a bit much, the way they call themselves normal?”

“Don’t get me started on witches.” Chris looked around them as they continued walking.

Douglas abruptly turned. “This way.” He led the way down a street crowded with houses, some old, some new, a mixture of brick and side paneling and so many colors it made his eyes hurt to look at them all at once. He stopped in front of one painted a comparatively boring light blue with white shutters.

Chris could just barely feel the black magic that emanated from it, as if the house was leaking from an over saturation of it. He started to speak when beside him Douglas whirled around, tail lashing as he resumed his true form. Chris turned, and regarded the man who had not been there a moment ago. “You must be the sorcerer.”

The man in question was neat and tidy – shirt and slacks pressed, leather shoes shined, brown hair neatly trimmed. He frowned at them over his frameless glasses. “Who are you? I assume the imp is what got you through the barrier?”

“My name is Chris White,” Chris said amiably. “This is my partner Douglas. We’ve come about a complaint. You’re causing trouble here and we’d like you to leave. Immediately.”

The man shook his head. “I’ve every right to be here.”

Chris dropped all pretense of pleasantness. “Not if you’re making zombies.”

The sorcerer narrowed his eyes. “Just who sent you?”

“My mother,” Chris said sourly. “But I would have come anyway, the moment I heard a sorcerer was here. You’re not welcome, and I’m ordering you to leave immediately.”

“You can’t make me.” The sorcerer snapped his fingers and was suddenly holding a small book – the sort of journal anyone could buy for a few dollars at a bookstore. But Chris had no doubt the spells and incantations within it were the sort anyone involved in black magic would pay handsomely for. “Now I’m telling you to leave, before you find out the hard way just what it is you’re involved in. Go home, human.”

Chris laughed. “And what are you? A better human? I’d say don’t make me laugh but it’s a little late for that.” He stopped laughing. “Do not threaten me, sorcerer. I came here to ensure you left, and while I’d prefer to do it peaceably I’ll remove you by force if I must.”

The sorcerer returned the laugh. “And what could an imp and a human do to me? Nothing. Do your worst.”

Chris smiled in a way that, though the sorcerer wouldn’t know it, was eerily reminiscent of his lover. “I’ll say this one last time, sorcerer. Leave. If you leave now, you’ll live. If you insist on staying, and defying me, I cannot guarantee your continued existence.”

The sorcerer sneered. “I don’t know why anyone sent you, though I’m sure your imp is very powerful and that you know quite a few good spells, but you’re no match for me.”

“Looks like someone thinks he’s special because he made a few dozen zombies,” Doug muttered underneath his breath.

Chris smirked as he stepped forward. “Have it your way.” He pulled his left hand free of the pocket of his old jacket and held it so that the sorcerer could not miss the ring. Dull, it began to glimmer as he spoke. “I invoke the name of Sable Brennus, the demon Cadfael.”

The sorcerer started.

“And in his name, as his Consort, I banish you forthwith from his territory. Should you ever enter it again, your life is forfeit. If you do not leave in an hour’s time, your life is forfeit. You are banished.” The last word sealed the spell – one that would not have worked had the sorcerer been left much longer to grow in strength and power.

The sorcerer went from pale and frightened to red and angry. “We’ll just see!” His book opened as if on its own power, pages flipping as the sorcerer began to recite a spell.

He never finished it.

Sable stared contemptuously at the sorcerer’s body. “Idiot. What good did he think attempting a death spell would do?”

“What are you doing here?” Christ snapped. He swore loudly. “I’ve told you a thousand times before not to interfere in my work!” He glowered as Sable approached, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I only came to watch,” Sable replied. He tilted Christian’s face up. “You know what it does to me when you invoke my name and use all that power I’ve given you.”

Chris’ scathing reply was lost in Sable’s mouth, as the Demon hungrily kissed his consort. “Are you done here, Christian? Can we go home?”

Doug laughed.

“No, we can’t.” Chris sounded disappointed despite his best efforts to remain annoyed. “First we have to clean up the mess here, and then I have to go see my mother again. She’s the one who made me do this…on behalf of her mother.”

Sable frowned and pulled Christian into his arms. He kissed him softly. “I’d offer to come along for support but I don’t think I’d help matters much.”

“Oh, she already knows.” Doug grinned. “Chris made it very clear where he stands with the resident demon.”

“Shut it, imp.” Chris warned.

Over Chris’ shoulder, Sable smiled. He pulled far enough away to give Chris another kiss. “Then you should go talk to your family, so we can go home that much sooner.”

Chris pulled far enough away to shake his head. “We can’t leave yet. We have to take care of the sorcerer – you really shouldn’t have just killed him, Sable. And we have to restore the souls to the zombies.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Sable held Chris’ head in both hands and kissed him until he was in no condition to protest anything Sable said. “Run along. Speak with your family.”

Smothering a laugh that would get him killed, Doug latched onto Chris and dragged him away from Sable. Muttering under his breath, Chris vanished them both back his parents’ house.

He halted in the yard, startled to see his mother was already waiting for him, arms crossed and the lines of her face pulled tight with unhappiness. “Mom?”

“The thing about being a black witch,” his mother spoke slowly. She used the term ironically -- a black witch was technically impossible, as the nature of witches was to reject black magic in all shapes and forms. “Is that I sense your magic whenever you use a great deal of it. The sorcerer was quite a threat, wasn’t he?”

“But young and stupid. It didn’t even occur to him I might be more than I appeared. A good sorcerer would have known that Sable had a consort and that I was a detective of sorts.”

Glenys nodded. “I still do not like your going into danger, even after all these years and even when I’m the one sending you straight to it.” She stepped off the porch and met her son halfway across the yard. “I am sorry, Chris. I know you didn’t want to do it.” She reached up to smooth his messy hair and trace his cheek.

“Has she changed at all?” Chris asked even as he hated himself for it. He caught his mother’s hand and squeezed it gently.

His mother shrugged. “She unbent enough to come here for help, didn’t she?” She sighed. “My mother isn’t going to change, Chris. Asking her not to be a witch is like asking you not to be part ghost. It just isn’t possible. She’s spent her entire life – from the moment she was born to this very second – a witch. There’s no undoing that. If you’re conflicted, think about how she must feel. Not only did her daughter abandon her way of life, she went to live with a ghost, bore his child and now her grandson is a demon’s consort. I have no doubt that she loves you as much as she loves me—“

“That is to say, she loves us enough to come to us for help but not to speak to us otherwise.”

Glenys sighed again, looking tired and sad. “I wish I could make you understand, Chris.”

“I understand that the only people to accept you and dad and me are all the people she refuses to so much as acknowledge until a sorcerer visits. I know I upset you, and I wish I could just nod and smile and go inside and make nice. But I can’t and I won’t. We tried for years to draw her in. I have you, dad, Sable and Douglas. I don’t need her anymore.”

Glenys hugged him, resting her head against her son’s chest. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about, mom.” Chris hugged her back, smiling faintly. “I’m certain dad will be more than happy to point out that it’s my behavior which needs apologized for. Where is dad anyway?”

“Inside, attempting to talk to her. I think she’s more scared than anything.” Glenys pulled away. “Do want to come inside?”

“No,” Chris hugged her once more then stepped away. He motioned to Douglas, who had stood silent the entire time. “We’ve got work to do and—“

Douglas grinned. “And Sable would like a word with his consort.”

“Quiet, imp.” Chris glared at him.

Glenys’ lips twitched. “I see. I’m surprised he’s not here.”

“He’s finishing up for us,” Chris explained. “And he’s probably trying to be considerate for once. If he appeared here, he’d give your mom a heart attack.” He smiled fondly at his mother. “Not every witch is as adept at coping with black magic as you.”

Glenys smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Well, get going then. Will you come for dinner tomorrow night? And Sable and Doug?”

“Sure, mom. Tell dad I said hi and that I’m sorry for my rude behavior.”

“Of course.” Glenys waved them off, and the two vanished.

Sable waited for him in their room, half sitting on, half leaning against the bed. He tugged Chris gently into his arms. “You cannot stay angry forever, Christian.”

Chris frowned against Sable’s chest. “Watch me.” He pulled back to narrow his eyes at Sable. “Why do you care, anyway? It’s one less person to steal away my time with you.”

Sable stroked his cheek, then slid his fingers back through Chris’ hair. “I do not like to see shadows in your eyes, beautiful. Making reparations would do much to take those shadows away.”

“I have my parents. I have Doug. I have you.” Chris pressed closer to Sable. “That’s all I need. Just drop it.”

“For now. But ignoring a problem is not the same as solving it.”

Chris tensed. “I’ll solve it when I feel like it. Could we please just drop it?”

“Of course,” Sable replied soothingly. Then he smirked. “Though honestly, it’s hard for me to hate a woman who puts you in enough of a snit you’d actually use your authority as consort.” He kissed Chris again, and there was nothing soothing or comforting left in his manner. “Invoke my name again, beautiful.”

 

 

Case #134: Sweet Dreams

Chris ran, his feet splashing in muddy puddles, soaking his boots and jeans. He was tired, sore, really sore and rapidly losing patience.

But a job was a job and he'd do it right even when the patience ran out.

At least it was late enough and dark enough that even the busier sections of town were dead.
He cursed as he reached a T-intersection, looking first toward the hotel in front of him and then to either side - no sign of an eight, greenish-brown, seriously pissed off troll presented itself.

Then he was shoved hard from behind, barely going intangible soon enough to avoid the worst of it. Spinning around, he stared at the troll that had snuck up behind and avoided thinking about how it'd managed because he was already in a bad enough mood as was. Launching himself at the troll, he solidified at the very last second, sending them both the ground and in a perfect position to pin the troll down.

But his weight wasn't enough and the troll sent him flying up and back - again he barely managed to change in time.

He was more tired than he'd thought, if his reactions were that slowed. A split lip, black eye and bruised shoulder probably weren't helping matters, but thinking about them definitely wasn't.

"Damn it, Doug!" Where the hell had the imp gone?

But a second later a large, gray shadow dropped down on the eight foot troll and threw it off balance. They crashed to the street and several second of struggling had the troll pinned by both of them. Red-faced, panting and utterly exhausted, Chris shifted to reach his jacket pocket.

The troll sensed his chance and sent them both flying. Doug hit the side of a building with a sickening crack and fell to the sidewalk. Chris failed to go intangible, seeing black and stars as his head connected with what he thought must be brick behind him.

He slumped forward on the sidewalk, silently ordering the street to stop moving, and watched helplessly as the troll bore down on him. "So quadrupling payment for this." Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up, determined not to die on his knees.

And looked up, to see the troll had frozen in place.

Chris blinked.

Rubbed his eyes, and blinked again.

Though the troll's eyes were moving, the rest of him seemed incapable. Utterly confused, Chris glanced around the intersection for something that could have messed with a creature impervious to most magic.

And swore colorfully. "What in the hell are you doing here? Never mind." Ignoring his unexpected rescuer, ignoring the way the street wouldn't stay still, Chris slowly made his way to Doug.

Gingerly he examined the imp's wings and back, legs and arms, and lastly his neck. Finding nothing wrong, he flipped Doug over and examined his front as well. He let out a long, slow sigh of relief. Only a few scrapes and bruises and a knot on the head that wasn't nearly as bad as the one inflicted by a goblin a few months back.

Still ignoring his now smirking rescuer, Chris limped toward the frozen troll. Reluctantly he turned toward Sable - Brennus - and pointed to the troll. "Will he stay like that?"

"As long as you like, beautiful."

Chris snorted in contempt of the ridiculous adjective, but stopped when he realized that made his head hurt more. Fumbling for a moment, he finally pulled a syringe from his jacket pocket and stuck it in the troll's arms.

Several minutes later he caught a boy of no more than twelve in his arms and laid him carefully on the street.

Fuck he hurt. So not fair that everyone got to pass out except him.

Hands settled on his shoulders from behind and for a split second Chris started to lean into them, attracted to the warmth and strength in them.

But then he remembered to whom those hands belonged, and forced himself to pull away, shoulders stiff as he examined the boy for serious injury. All was well, two for two.
Now he had to figure out how to get the boy back to his mother, and then himself and a six-foot one unconscious imp back to his ramshackle office.

"Would you like some help?" The hands landed on his shoulders again, supporting him.
And that was so not fair, because he was cold and sore and really tired and in no condition to resist that rough velvet voice or those hands. He wanted to say yes, and close his eyes and lean back-

But he wasn't going to because any sort of interaction with a demon was a bad idea. And no one did his job for him. Especially not a demon. Especially not Sable Brennus. "No, I'm fine." Chris made himself pull away again and started to bundle the boy in his arms.

And there the street went spinning again.

*~*~*~*

Chris opened his eyes.

Then decided he preferred them shut. He spoke aloud, eyes still closed. "I don't know where the hell I am, but I know I'm not awake. So someone tell me what's going on."

"You're the detective, aren't you? The one that helps paranormals?"

"That would be me, yes."

"I need your help."

Chris opened his eyes and finally acknowledged the strange world he was in. Around him was an imitation of his office - the scuffed, worn desks he and Doug used, the beat up couch that with the desk formed a horseshoe around the front door. The threadbare maroon carpet, the barely matching curtains.

It was bad enough he had to look at the sad place awake. "What's going on here?" He eyed the creature standing a few feet away. Her skin was white and he had no doubt whatsoever it was as smooth and soft as any interested man could want. Her lips were dark pink, full and with the slightest hint of a pout - almost enough to distract from the small, sharp fangs. Her eyes were a clear blue, the lashes around them long, her nose small and elegant. Dark pink ribbons held her hair loosely back. No doubt it would be easy to pull the ribbon and send the long, brown tresses streaming over her shoulders. The pink dress she wore teased at her figure but did not show it.

A very good succubus, this one. "I need your help."

"Yes, I got that part." Chris sighed. "Elaborate."

The succubus licked her lips nervously, smoothing the front of her dress before clasping her hands to force them to remain still. "There's a human I've been feeding on." She spoke in a sudden rush, "I'm not going to kill him or anything--"

"One problem at a time," Chris said. "Something is preventing your feeding on him?"
The succubus nodded. "But I can't figure out what - and Tommy can't or won't tell me."

"Perhaps he's tired of being preyed upon by a succubus?" Chris asked.

"No, he's not! It isn't like that! He-" the succubus began to blink rapidly, her blue eyes suddenly too bright. "He wanted to find a way to put me in his world. But lately he has trouble just reaching mine - nothing I do anymore draws him in." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It's almost like he's ignoring me but I know he's not! He wouldn't!"

A succubus with romantic woes. That was a new one on him. "What's your name?"

"C-Cordula."

"My name is Chris." He scoured his brain for something to distract a crying woman. "How did you bring me here? Succubi have no effect on me and clearly that's not how you did it anyway."

Cordula sniffed, bringing her tears under control. In seconds she was once more a cool, collected succubus. "I made a deal with a dream guide. He gave me the spell scrolls I needed to find you here and I'll help with a mortal he's fond of."

"Interesting. Do you have any more of those scrolls?"

"One. I had to use two of the three he gave me to bring you here."

Chris nodded. "Then can you use one to bring my assistant here? His name is Douglas; he's an imp."

Cordula hesitated and then slowly nodded. "I can if he's asleep. But if not, there's nothing I can do."

"Of course. But try for me. I detest doing a case without him."

The succubus reached into empty space and pulled out a small roll of paper. It was silver-colored, fine and delicate. Unrolling it, she laid it out flat on one of the desks and held out a gold pen. "Write his name on the top line, and focus on him as you do so. It should be easier for you to bring him, as you know him, than it was for me to bring you."

Nodding, Chris accepted the pen and signed Douglas' name with a flourish to the indicated spot. As he finished, the scroll rolled itself up and vanished.

Several minutes later, a very confused imp stood beside the dream version of his desk, blinking between Chris and Cordula.

Chris explained.

"Interesting," Doug said with a yawn when he finished. He sat down at his desk and dug out a notebook and pen.

Sitting at his own desk, Chris motioned for the succubus to take the couch. Leaning back in his seat, he crossed his legs and steepled his fingers. "Now, Cordula. Start from the beginning and tell me everything. Leave nothing out."

"I first visited Tony a year ago, and started to feed like always. But--" she was starting to cry again. "He never got upset. Never seemed to mind. It threw me, how happy he seemed that I just visited. Half the time he didn't even seem affected by my skills...he just liked talking. So we talked, and I fed only as much as I strictly needed. And one day he said he loved me, and that he wanted me to be with him for real - even though I told him I wouldn't be pretty outside of his dreams." She pulled a handkerchief from the air and dabbed at her eyes and cheeks. "He said he didn't care. And then a couple of weeks ago I started having trouble getting to him. Yesterday I couldn't reach him at all. And I know he wouldn't start ignoring me, so I'm worried something else happened to him!" She buried her face in the handkerchief.

Chris and Doug looked at each in uncertainty. "What's his name?" Chris asked finally, figuring it was better to stick to business than try and comfort.

"Tommy Fitz." Cordula sniffed. "He lives on the south side of town, on Apple Street, right by the river."

"Apple Street." Chris grimaced. "Got a house number?"

"201B. The second floor of the Madison Building."

Chris nodded, while Doug's pen flew. "Any idea who or what might be threatening him? Perhaps another succubus?"

"No," Cordula said firmly. "We don't intrude on one another's territory. As for outside…" She shrugged. "He's just a lonely schoolteacher who dabbles in alchemy. Barely talks to the other teachers or the kids, because they all think he's strange. His neighbor, a black witch, is the only one he gets along with, and all they do is talk from time to time. Sometime she fixes him dinner, and he fixes her car when it needs it."

"Hmm…" Chris barely kept from rolling his eyes at hearing the man's neighbor called herself a black witch. "What is her apartment number? And he's done nothing unusual since all of this started? No new hobbies? No strange alchemical experiments?"

"Only the one he's using to take me outside. But he talks about that all the time. There's no danger involved for him until the end - and that wouldn't cut him off. It would leave him trapped here. She lives in 201A.. I believe they share a kitchen."

"Think hard," Chris said sharply. "There must be something strange that would help explain why you can no longer reach him. Are you certain he hasn't found a real life lover?"

Cordula glared. "He loves me - and if he had a real life lover I would no longer be able to reach him."

"True. So it probably some other outside force." Chris fell silent as he thought. "Is there anything else you can think to tell us?"

"Nothing. I wish I could help more, but I've told you all I know."

Chris nodded and stood. "All right then. We'll investigate further once we wake up. Assuming all goes well, you'll know when we've succeeded."

"And what is your fee?" Cordula smoothed her dress. She looked up at Chris. "I will pay whatever you ask, rest assured."

"Fees will be discussed when I've succeeded." Chris smiled. "I don't accept payment until I've solved the problem." He paused. "Any idea how to wake us up?"

Cordula laughed and spoke a word Chris didn't know - then the dream world faded out.

He opened his eyes, closed them again. Made himself sit up, then opened them again. "Maybe I should have stayed asleep."

"You've slept for nearly an entire day," a familiar voice said from across the room, where he sat on a deep leather couch before a fireplace. His back was to Chris, for which he was grateful. He was still far too sleepy to deal with Sable Brennus.

He looked around the room and wondered how he got himself into such messes.

A bedroom. He was in Sable Brennus' bedroom. That was it. Chris threw back the covers - really soft, warm, horribly appealing covers - and damn near killed himself when he realized the massive dark walnut canopy bed was on a raised platform. He let his hands catch his fall, all but avoiding eating wall, not trusting himself to be strong enough yet to use his intangibility.
He tensed as he felt and heard Brennus reach him, turning to smack away the arms that were reaching for him. "Where are my clothes?" He tugged at the dark blue silk he was wearing. "These aren't mine. Give mine back."

"Temper, temper." Sable lifted one brow, clearly unamused for once. "Given that I could have left you to rot, one would think you'd at least say thank you." Reaching out, he touched the front of the silk shirt, murmuring softly for a second, and Chris was suddenly in his own clothes.

Chris grit his teeth, ignoring the headache throbbing at his temple. "Thank you." A thought occurred to him. "What were you doing there, anyway?"

"Hunting for a troll, oddly enough." The demon's amusement was returning. "A few of the lesser creatures mentioned the thing running around, and when the vampires started complaining I thought perhaps it was time I did something about it. No one told me my spook detective was already taking care of matters."

Chris got pissed again. "Paranormal Investigator thanks. And I'm not yours."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Huh?" Chris asked stupidly, taken by surprise.

"Are you feeling better? You took a pretty nasty beating."

"I-I'm fine." Chris shook himself. "And I have to go. I'm on a case."

"The boy is fine. His mother came and picked him up hours ago. And she said she will pay whatever fee you ask."

Sable moved so that Chris could not get by, trapping him in the space between bed and wall.
Chris glowered. "Not that case. A different one. I've been hired to find out what's wrong with a man on Apple Street." Giving up, Chris grimaced and climbed onto the bed, then ghosted and moved through it out into the bedroom proper.

Brennus caught him before he got far. "How can you have a case? You've been asleep. Surely you're not so desperate to get away you make up poor lies?"

Snatching his hand away, Chris shoved at Sable. "Don't flatter yourself. I was hired by a succubus to find out what's wrong with her lover."

"Succubi don't have lovers."

"That's what I thought. I was wrong. So are you. And if you'll excuse me, time is of the essence…where's Douglas?"

"If you're referring to the imp, he's in one of the guest rooms. I've got my secretary keeping an eye on him."

Chris forced his teeth to unclench. "He's not 'the imp.' His name is Douglas and he's my assistant."

"I meant no offense," Sable said levelly. "It little matters to me who or what you work with. He was remarkably strong for an imp, or at least much stronger than any imp I've ever seen." Sable's grip loosened as he spoke, though it was clear he still didn't plan on letting Chris go anywhere. "Most people would have killed the troll."

"You would have."

Sable shrugged. "I hadn't decided what to do. Finding it was proving difficult as was, oddly enough. I could have killed it instead of freezing it."

With a stiff nod Chris conceded the point. "I have to go."

"Then come back after you're done. We'll have dinner."

"What?" Chris asked, startled. "Why?"

Sable laughed. "Because if you don't agree, my only other option for keeping you around is to bind you and I don't think that would go over well."

"Don't even try it," Chris hissed. He jerked free and backed away, focusing hard on all the reasons he should be giving Sable a scathing no and running for his life - for his sanity. "Leave me the hell alone."

"Why do you dislike me so much?" Sable asked idly.

"Because!" Chris replied. It was hard to think straight with him around. It was so tempting to seek comfort. To go back to that bed and pretend he was fine and worry free. To drag the far too sexy Sable with him. "Why are you so determined to keep me here?" He was really starting to hate the way he wound up pressed up against things with a demon looming over him.

"You're the most interesting thing I've seen in ages, beautiful. Half-ghost, a detective who helps the paranormals, and brave enough to wander into my office and take me to task." Sable's lips brushed against his brow, his cheek, and lingered at the corner of his mouth before he finally kissed Chris properly.

Chris wished he could tell himself later that he resisted, but the truth was far from it. He broke away, breathless, and glared at the floor. "I though it was only vampires that had this effect on humans."

"They are," Sable said, amused and pleased by what Chris had unwittingly admitted. He turned Chris to look at him again. "No tricks, Christian. I don't play that way when I play for keeps."

Chris shoved him far enough away he could slide free, ghosting to give himself an illusion of the strength he didn't seem to have around Sable. "No one ever said we were playing for keeps."

"We? I hadn't realized you'd agreed to play at all, beautiful." Triumph gleamed in Sable's eyes.

Swearing up a storm, Chris headed for the door in hopes of reaching it before Sable reached him. He wasn't surprised when he failed miserably.

"Have dinner with me," Sable said softly. "It can't hurt anything."

"I sincerely doubt that," Chris said sourly, looking up to glare but instead only sighing. "Fine. Dinner. Where and when?"

"Downstairs, I have a private table." Sable reached up with his free hand to brush aside strands of Chris' blonde hair. His thumb and forefinger pinched firmly at Chris' ear, and when he let go Chris felt something heavy there.

He reached up to touch the foreign weight. "What the hell did you do?"

"A minor jewel," Sable replied. "It will permit communication between you, Douglas and myself should you need it."

Chris narrowed his eyes and pulled away. "One night, short term, long term or permanent, you'd better learn not to interfere in my work. I neither need nor want your help."

"Of course, beautiful." Sable spoke indulgently, smiling faintly. "I merely thought it would be easier than calling me. I detest phones."

"Whatever. May I go now? I've got a job to get done." Chris looked anywhere but at Sable, desperate to get back to the world where he could actually function and not go to pieces. Warm lips brushed his cheek, and turned his head until he was once more kissing Sable, tasting whiskey and the tang of magic, and something right that shook him to his core. He broke away, fumbling with the door handle. "Bye," he managed, desperate to escape.

"Your imp should be waiting for you downstairs. See you later, beautiful."

Chris fled, eschewing the elevators in favor simply going through the floors. He reappeared in the lobby beside Douglas.

"There you are," Douglas said calmly, long used to Chris appearing out of nowhere. "You look shaken up."

"Are you all right?" Chris asked, ignoring him. "You took a nasty beating from the troll."

Douglas shrugged. "A few scrapes and bruises and I had a nasty headache for a bit. But I'm good. Are we ready to go? What kept you so long?"

"Demon," Chris said shortly, leading the way out of the lobby. He was unsurprised to see his old SUV waiting outside a hotel valet holding the keys for him. "Mr. White."

"Thank you," Chris managed, silently calling Sable every nasty name he could think of.

Douglas grinned as the drove off. "So he's still interested, huh?"

"I'm sure he's just bored," Chris said tightly. "He'll wander off to someone or something else eventually. Can we stop talking about me and discuss the case instead?"

"Apple Street," Douglas said. "Not often we go that far. Wonder why a humble teacher slash alchemist decided to live on Apple Street."

"Dirt cheap?" Chris posed. "And nobody, not even the normals, looks twice when something weird or slightly less than legal goes down. The secret to uniting normals and abnormals - a penchant for illegal activities."

Douglas nodded, thumbing through his notes. "I hope we're up to handling a black witch that isn't your mom," he said thoughtfully. "I'm not really familiar with their tricks. Nice earring by the way. That a gift from the demon you don't like?"

"Shut it, imp." Chris spared him a glared before returning his attention to the dark, crowded city streets. He parked in front of a run down building and they climbed out. He reached up to touch the earring that hung like a lead weight from his ear. "He said it would help us communicate, and I didn't know what the repercussions would be for removing it." He glowered at the absent demon. "I can sense a great deal of magic in it."

Douglas examined it more closely. "It's quite a rock. I don't know anything about diamonds and I know people would cheerfully kill to have that in their possession. I know a lot of abnormals who would do a lot worse than kill to have a diamond with that much demon-level power in it."

"A diamond?" Chris all but squawked in outrage. "Why in the hell did he give me a diamond?"