Succubus Hunter 2 (The Succubus Series)

by Daniel Pierce

  “Out from one morgue and into another,” I complained. “Well, at least this time it’s unlikely weed is going to stop me.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. So this Voortmann guy runs this morgue?”

  She took another puff of her cigarette and the car filled with the scent of menthol. “Him and a few of his undead colleagues. They've been there a long time, from what I understand. Centuries, at least.”

  Centuries was a long time for a group of undead to go unnoticed. “And no one has discovered them?”

  Maura tapped out the last of her cigarette and tossed the butt out the window. “The living don't overly concern themselves with the dead, and the dead don't much like the living. It's in everyone's interest that they stay apart. Besides, Voortmann doesn't take kindly to outsiders. Unless they're being chopped up for dinner, that is.”

  “Hopefully he doesn't wanna turn me into a roast.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about it. I'm introducing you, after all. Besides you'd make a terrible roast. You're too stringy. Maybe a stew.”

  “Yeah, great. Thanks.”

  We parked in a garage after a short drive, then Maura led me down into a nearby subway station where I assumed we'd catch a train the rest of the way. But instead of walking toward the tracks, Maura led me to a dark area behind the ticket booths that was covered in graffiti. After quickly checking to make sure no one was looking, Maura pushed open the false wall, revealing a dark corridor.

  I stepped inside while pulling out night-vision glasses from my pocket. They were an experimental form of smart-glasses that synced up with an app on my phone to display a brightness-filtered version of what their cameras took in. The technology was still in its alpha stages, leading to bugs and sync errors, but it was still a far sight better than walking blind.

  Maura used her lighter to guide us forward, and as we progressed a heavy stink began to assault my senses. It was a smell I was becoming all too familiar with: death and rot and decay. But something about this was different. There was something more … permanent about this stench, as if it was as much a part of the tunnel as the walls and floor. Maura had said they’d been down here for centuries, and I imagined hundreds of years of decay would have an effect like this, new rot and old rot and ancient rot mingling together to create one powerful and complex stench that almost defied my senses.

  My glasses allowed me to make out old subway tiles, fading signs, and even a shattered water fountain, all which told me that this tunnel had seen active use in brighter days. Based on how old-world everything looked and how outdated the one map I saw was, that must have been back in the early days of the New York City subway system.

  I imagined we were getting close by the way Maura quickened her pace. As we neared our destination, my glasses allowed me to see a strange streak across the floor that at first seemed like an odd pattern of the tiles, but as I focused, I realized what it was: blood. Streaks of blood, many streaks of blood, running down the tunnel in front of us. Dozens—no, hundreds of bodies, some still leaking a considerable amount of blood from them, had been dragged across the ground this way. They should fire the maid.

  We finally came to a massive, rusted door where the tunnel topped. Maura knocked on the door three times and waited. I stepped up next to her and concentrated on the presence of The Night Flail, ready to react if something attacked us.

  Nothing but silence greeted us for a minute. Then two. I looked over to Maura to see if she wanted to try knocking again, but she seemed to be standing patiently still, so I waited.

  Finally, the door slowly cracked open. A crackly voice from inside called out to me. “Welcome to the Meat Locker.”

  Maura was already walking inside so I followed close behind her, my senses focused and ready for the worst.

  And I got my first look at the undead. One stood directly across from us, a massive cleaver in his hand. He was dressed in a fine, if somewhat outdated, suit, complete with tie and lapel pin, that might have made him seem sharp dressed if it wasn't hanging loose on a frame that was all skin and bones.

  Actually, that was a damn good way to describe it. All his flesh was stretched, pressed tightly against the bones underneath without an ounce of fat or liquid between it. It was like he had been left out in the sun to dry for decades. His lips were non-existent, and the flesh around his mouth was pulled back to reveal a row of yellow and jagged teeth. The eyes were milky white to match the straw-like nest of hair on his head.

  Behind him, milling about deeper in the room, were undead that were more in-line with what pop-culture would have me believe they should look like: rotting flesh that sagged and looked ready to fall off the bones alongside gaping wounds and pallid skin. These undead seemed less interested in our presence than the one who had his milky whites focused on us.

  “Maura,” he growled, the word as much an accusation as a greeting. “You dare to bring another mortal into our presence?”

  She shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the threat in his tone. “This is Kurt. He asked nicely. And it is good to see again, too, Voortmann.”

  Voortmann grumbled and set the cleaver aside on a table. “Well, we'll talk about this later. Come in, we're just getting ready to fix dinner.”

  Maura took a few steps in while reaching into her pocket and pulling out her pack of cigarettes.

  The ghoul growled at her. “Hey, you know you can't smoke here.”

  I didn't know whether I should have been more impressed by Maura's inability to be intimidated or worried for her safety. She just laughed at Voortmann's warning and lit up her cigarette anyway.

  Voortman wheezed, and only by the slack in his shoulders was I able to make out that it was supposed to be a sigh.

  To me, the menthol smelled a far bit better than the rotten stench that already inhabited the place. “Why the no smoking rule? It's not like the undead can get cancer, right? Or wait—can they?”

  “No, it spoils the taste of our finest cuts.”

  He pointed up and I my eyes followed the gesture, and I almost immediately wished I hadn't. Dozens of hooks hung from the ceiling, and on many of them were bodies. Men and women, old and young, and of every ethnicity were on display here, hanging like pig carcasses in a butchery. At least they're equal opportunity cannibals.

  One thing about the bodies caught my attention right away: many were missing parts. To me, it seemed an awful lot like the bodies I had seen in Saint Mercer's morgue.

  I noticed that Voortmann was examining me as I examined the bodies. He was probably looking for some sign of weakness, a quivering in my knees or a queasiness in my belly at the sight of his butcher shop. Fortunately, given my recent exposure, so this no longer fazed me and I was able to walk casually between the bodies without so much as a wince.

  Voortmann, now curious, stepped beside me. “So what brings you here, Kurt, that's so important you had to make Maura break her vow of secrecy?”

  I didn’t turn to face him as I spoke. “I have questions that need answers.”

  “And what makes you think I would be eager to answer them?”

  I reached out and grabbed Voortmann's cleaver from the table and whirled it around in my hand, making an impressive display that his milky eyes followed with interest. Then I held it in an easy grip and casually pointed it to a body of a man that was particularly cut up and damaged.

  My next words were commanding, orders not a request, as I let the blade flash between us. “Let's start with this one. Why don't you tell me about this gentleman right here?”

  Voortman eyed me, clearly trying to decide what to make of me. He was probably not used to being bossed around in his own domain, much less having his own cleaver brandished at him. His caution proved he could sense that there was more to me than my simple human appearance let on, but he couldn’t determine whether that made me dangerous to him or not yet. “Which one?”

  I gestured again to a body that had extensive bruising and trauma. “The
one who looks like he was on the receiving end of a bull moose beatdown.”

  “Oh, him.” The ghoul scratched at his chin, a disturbingly human expression of nervousness. “Well … there’s nothing wrong with a guy helping his inventory grow, is there? I can get some good cuts from that carcass there.”

  By the time the implications of his words hit me The Night Flail was already out and wrapping around the tight skin of his neck. The Night Flail might have been specifically designed for fighting Succubi and their kind, but it could still beat the shit out of a murdering, cannibalistic, cocky bastard of a ghoul.

  I got up close to him and turned his face toward me, brandishing the knife a hair away from his eye. “What kind of cuts could I get from you?”

  The ghoul struggled to free himself, and realizing he couldn’t break my grip, he began to panic. He tried to utter a defense to my accusations, but it only came out as an incoherent, rambling mess. It seemed he had made up his mind about whether or not I was dangerous.

  He tried to look to his cohorts for support but the other undead were going through great lengths to avoid looking back at him, pretending that they saw nothing going on, apparently having made up their minds as well.

  I turned the ghoul around to take in the rows and rows of bodies. “You really need more inventory right now? Is this not enough for you?”

  The ghoul gulped, or at least made a motion I took to be gulp but sounded more like a gurgle. “I—I didn’t know we were going to be getting so much product so quickly, but when they show up, what am I supposed to do? Turn them away?”

  My tone was light but carried my threats well enough. “Who is providing so many corpses?”

  Voortmann hesitated and I could see him calculating, probably trying to decide if he was more afraid of me or whoever he would be betraying if he told me. I made the solution more obvious for him by tightening the chain around his neck.

  He had to struggle to get the names to come out. “Benazir and Pembroke!”

  Those were the same names Darcy had given me. It seemed all roads led back to them.

  I loosened the chain just a bit, and he made a wheezing sound like he was trying to catch his breath, even though he wasn’t breathing. My expression didn’t lighten at all. “Keep talking.”

  Voortmann was trying not to panic and was failing. “There’s a war going on in the streets. The mummy and the witch are going to tear the city apart trying to take control since some idiot took out Tandi.”

  I gave a quick tug on the chain in response to that comment, causing him to gasp. “Why are the bodies being so badly carved up? I’ve been finding them with whole sections clawed out.”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know!” He was getting desperate. “If the best parts of the meat were gone, they wouldn’t have brought them to me. I wouldn’t accept carcasses in that condition. And I don’t ask too many questions, it’s bad for business. Why don’t you ask them yourself?”

  That certainly would be the quickest way to the bottom of it. They were likely powerful and well-prepared for someone like me, but I had killed Tandi, a woman they had both been afraid of, so I was confident in my ability to handle them. “And where will I find one of these fine people?”

  “I don’t know about Benazir, but Pembroke’s in a penthouse of the Mars Veerien in Soho. But if you show up uninvited—well, there are wards all over the place. You probably wouldn’t take two steps inside before setting off an alarm, or worse. Except—” He cut himself off with a strangled sound, as if realizing he had said too much.

  I pulled him close by the chain and held the cleaver an inch from his eyeball. “Except what?”

  As he spoke, he never took his eyes off the cleaver’s sharp edge. “I overheard a phone call about regular parties being thrown on Friday nights. He’d have to let the wards down when the guests arrived. If you could time your arrival with the guests, you might be able to sneak in past the wards.”

  I smirked. “A party, eh? I’ll wear a tux.”

  7

  “Too tight, woman, too tight,” I choked as Lyanne adjusted my tie for the twentieth time that evening. Sometimes she forgot her own supernatural strength, and then I felt my cheeks flush as I thought about what I’d said. “The tux, I mean, and only the tux.” I tried for a charming smile; it came out as a leer.

  “Sorry.” She loosened it a bit, but winked, cognizant of her effect on me and loving it. Her knowing smile was just lewd enough to cause another flare in interest in me, but I fought it back—as best I could.

  I took a breath. Again, as best I could.

  It was clear she hadn’t meant it; our time together had taught me to see past the perpetual alluring look on her face to know when she was worried. Her natural sensuality was always there, just as my reaction to it was always. . . visible. I concentrated on everything except her touch, which was disturbingly close to my groin, and by close, I mean within ten feet. Her presence had that kind of effect on me.

  Behind me, Eve fussed with a lint roller across my backside. “Where the hell was this thing stored, anyway? In a closet full of cats?”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve needed to wear a tux,” I admitted. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

  Lyanne took a step back to get a better look at me and sighed. “It is … not the worst. I wish I had the time to take you out to get something custom-tailored for tonight, but it should serve well enough, especially if we need to knit an extra sweater out of cat fur.”

  Eve was pushing hard against my back now with the lint roller. “I’m still not comfortable with you going in there alone. You remember how powerful Tandi was. She almost killed all of us together. Anyone strong enough to give her pause is a serious threat.” She gave my bum a roll, then quirked a brow at me. “There was fuzz. Honest.”

  “Right. Fuzz. Let’s go with that. You know, of course, I killed Tandi,” I reminded them, grinning as Eve smacked me on the bum once with the roller. “Besides, it’s a party, so there will be a bunch of people around, probably some mortals, too. I doubt they’ll want to tear up their own penthouse in the middle of all those witnesses just to get to me.”

  “And what if they do,” Lyanne asked, her voice betraying an uncharacteristic amount of concern. “What if they decide getting at you was important enough to risk outing themselves? Or what if they try to poison you, or have one of the other guests attack you? You really should have back-up.”

  I shook my head, a motion made difficult by my tux’s stiff, high neckline. “This is a fact-finding mission, and it’s going to be tough enough to conceal myself in the crowds with that aura of mine without dragging along two former Succubi. Um, is this thing supposed to feel like it’s strangling me?”

  “Just be glad you aren’t wearing a corset. Some men, ah, used to at certain parties I attended,” Lyanne said with a cryptic lift of her brow.

  “I’m just going to go ahead and say it, dear—someday, I’d like you to tell me your whole sordid history,” I said to Lyanne, who batted her lashes and smiled.

  “Even the parts about museum and park sex turning me on? Actually, never mind- I’ve said too much,” Lyanne said with a wicked grin.

  “Every. Last. Bit. Even the parts ab—park sex?” I lifted my eyes to the sky, then shrugged as best I could in the tux. “Woman, you continue to surprise me.”

  “And now you know why I still fascinate you as well,” she said, planting a kiss at the top of my ear. “Now stay still. We’ve got a little more work to do.”

  They continued fussing over my tuxedo, trying to assuage their worries by ensuring my collar was straight and cuff links were placed correctly. I couldn’t blame them for worrying over me. It was actually kind of touching, but sometimes you’ve got to do things on your own.

  Still, I felt the need to comfort them, because we all needed it. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, it’s unlikely I will even be recognized, much less considered a threat. None of the immortals I’ve been questioning seem to rea
lize it was me that killed Tandi. A little disappointing, in a way, but also something that can be used to our advantage. If they don’t realize I’m the one who took her out, then they might just see me as another strange mortal, albeit one with a tuxedo that doesn’t let me breath.” I sighed as best I could, then added, “I guess looking good is more important than breathing.”

  “Now you understand fashion.” Lyanne said, then arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And if you’re wrong? If you are instantly recognized as the Hunter who took out Tandi and they decide to do something about it?”

  I gave an unconcerned shrug. “That’s what I have The Night Flail for.”

  In the end, they couldn’t convince me to take any back-up, so a few hours later I turned up, by myself, in SoHo, courtesy of a portal I formed in our wine cellar. The Mars Veerien was not tough to locate. While most of the surrounding buildings featured cast-iron architecture, part of the historical construction of the region before its gentrification and redevelopment, the Veerien seemed new, with its slick black walls and imposing frame. I imagined I could still smell the fresh paint if I sniffed hard enough. The cost of a new building like this constructed in a historical area like SoHo must have been astronomical.

  I waited out of sight of the front doors until I started noticing the guests arriving. Doing my best to blend in with a group of tall men who all smelled of cigars and boiled meat, I snuck past the doorman at front of the building and into the elevator that would take me to the penthouse suite. The tall men made my instincts tingle as we shared the long, silent elevator ride, but they seemed to be paying no attention to me. I looked over them for a clue as to what kind of immortals they might be, but aside from their lanky frames and their off-putting scent, they seemed normal.

  We arrived at the top floor and the elevator door opened to a small hall with another doorman positioned in front of it. A couple of burly men in dark clothes I took to be security stood at either side of the doorman, and my instincts told me none of the three were human. I was certainly in the right place.