Demon Inhibitions: Caitlin Diggs Series #3

by Gary Starta

“I’ll be in the next room to supervise so to speak. When he comes I’ll sense it. I will then cast a binding spell so he can’t attack you – or worse, drain you. Now the spell won’t last indefinitely so you won’t want to waste time with small talk. Hopefully you’ll be able to determine his innocence or guilt in your dream.”

  I had once interrogated an evil man named Crowley in a dream state. It didn’t go so well. But at least he didn’t threaten to harm me. Maybe he couldn’t. I still don’t know; but I was sure of one thing if the judge threatened me in any way I would defend myself. I didn’t care what Briana said about the dream and waking worlds. I went to bed packing a handgun.

  ~ * ~

  A full moon bathed my bedroom in bluish haze. It kept my eyes from closing. Normally I would have drawn the curtains on the nocturnal intrusion, but tonight I was hosting so to speak. I felt I was setting a better trap or “invitation” to Manners if I left the light on. Briana would have probably scolded me if she were capable of listening to my silent ranting. She had explained to me several times Manners would not be traveling via car, plane or broom for that matter. His appearance would be completely ethereal to all waking humans. He would meet me via an altered state of mind, in a dream or alpha state, where his thoughts and presence could transcend any physical traps an overly anxious former FBI agent (me) might feel compelled to set. It wouldn’t matter if I shined a lantern in my window or posted Rottweillers on around-the-clock guard duty, Manners would be oblivious to it. Briana stated this very emphatically, employing wild gyrating arm movements that nearly had me fearing she would turn me into a rat if I didn’t give her my undivided attention. So I sat and listened to her for an hour after we completed the spell. When my eyelids began drooping, she ordered me to bed. She took up residence in the adjoining guest room with Celeste. With a click of a doorknob, Briana could be at my bedside in seconds. But when I finally began to absorb the notion that Manners would not be using the front door to meet me, fear began to take hold. How would her presence help me? She could monitor my dreams all she wanted, but ultimately it would be up to me to break free of Manners’s paranormal grip-provided one: he was an incubus and two: he would still deem an appearance necessary to either protest his innocence or quiet my suspicions of him once for and all. My mind finally began to drift into that sleepy state where your thoughts start running into one another. How would I converse with him in the dream world? And would my gun be at my bedside in this dream? My brain felt like rubber. My eyelids finally shut. A faint hint of blue light seeped through them and then the next thing I knew…

  “Who, what…what do you want?” I sat straight up and stammered as a presence took shape over my brass four-post bed. At least I determined I could talk, albeit not very intelligently in my dream state. The shape continued to hover over me, within arm’s reach. I twisted in my covers, attempting to lunge towards my dresser drawer where I kept my gun. As my hand continued to fumble for the dresser knob, coldness brushed against my backside. At that instant, I gave up my hunt for the gun and reverted to my backside, hoping confrontation might keep the invading demon at bay. I shouted. “Back off and identify yourself.” I felt silly. I couldn’t very well command this thing to put its hands behind its back--if it had hands--let alone expect it to adhere to laws and protocols devised by those living in the real world.

  The thing, best described as a floating transparent body of liquid, actually started to comply. It reversed itself away from me, about a yard or so. Now it hovered over my Victorian vanity chair. I seriously hoped its liquid makeup wouldn’t drip all over my prized antique. It began to glow blue, probably because it was in the direct path of a moonbeam.

  “Now tell me who are you.” Hoarse and raspy, my voice no longer sounded like mine. I tried to recall my vision where I had been speaking to the spirit of Aleister Crowley. My voice had sounded like mine then. In fact, I’d felt no different in that dream state whatsoever; I had classified that experience as a vision. But now, as I sat cowering in my bed, I felt more as if in a dream. I willed my legs to move, but like in a dream, they were uncooperative as if an iron vise was keeping them in place. As I struggled to escape my covers, the thing spoke to me in a whispered voice. Whatever it was, it was now inside my head!

  “Dear Ms. Hawthorne…” It paused. Apparently floating liquid demons employ sarcasm just as well as humans. I knew it was mocking me. It probably knew my real name and occupation. Before I could respond, it spoke again.

  I am Mr. Manners. I am not here to inflict harm. No matter what theories the police have told you, I did not kill any of those five poor women. In fact I never met four of them. The fifth, I considered a mentor and dear friend. Ms. Alva Pierce taught me the ropes of real estate. We shared many pleasant conversations. We talked about growing roses, breeding champion cats and maintaining the elegance of Salem.

  I found my raspy voice again. But my mouth did not form words. I spoke to Manners telepathically.

  Did maintaining the elegance of Salem have anything to do with keeping undesirable people from moving in? Maybe you and Ms. Pierce had a disagreement. Maybe she realized your true nature and didn’t want to sell homes to incubi. And just maybe the other realtors weren’t too keen about casting Salem back into the dark ages. I know realtors are obliged to sell all races, no matter creed, color or religious belief. But I’m willing to bet that handbook says nothing about employing an equal opportunity approach towards devils.

  Oh, come now, Ms. Diggs. I am no devil. I will show you.

  A tremendous wind rocked the room, sending the curtains aflutter. I gasped for breath. When the room steadied, I saw Manners in human form. No different from the man who feigned an interest in Celeste.

  I am providing this illusion for your benefit, Ms. Diggs. I do not look like this. My real appearance might contain several appendages--such as horns--that might further alarm you. I have always found it easier to maintain a human likeness in the waking world, because there, matter adheres to a stricter sense of laws. No matter, my liaisons with human females have always been consensual and completely sexual. True, I acquired sustenance through the joining, but at no time did I ever threaten a life.

  I found Manners’s conversational tone more disturbing than the promise of horns. Why was he addressing me as if we were attending a church social? Did he need to lure me into a trap to romance me? If so, Manners would require intercourse to fully subdue me. And while a recent bout of celibacy was beginning to grate on my last nerves, I sure as hell wasn’t going to copulate with any shape-shifting bag of liquid. I resumed interrogation mode.

  If you were such good friends with Ms. Pierce, why didn’t you tell the police this? They have only interpreted your silence as guilt.

  Humans possess the most confounding logic, Ms. Diggs. If I had shown feelings for Alva, then I would have only solidified a motive for them. Police always suspect lovers and friends first.

  I could see his point. I tried not to verbalize it, but I believed he could sense it. He was in my head after all. I recalled what Briana had said. I had to proceed with brevity. If this conversation lingered on, I might no longer enjoy the safety of her protection spell. Frustrated, I laid my cards on the table.

  Okay Mr. Manners, let’s cut to the chase. I want you to know that stalling for time won’t work. I won’t become your sixth victim, even if my protection spell wears off. Somewhere, probably in a celestial waiting room, Briana was cursing me for giving away our secret. I didn’t care about that right now. I would push the suspect further. If he were truly innocent, he might be compelled to give me a tangible reason why. I had my fill of ethereal chitchat for one evening; I required substance.

  Why not come clean, Mr. Manners and show everybody who you really are? People will find out sooner or later. Briana knows. Hell, even my cat Celeste knows. At this point I felt shame that my pet knew more about the investigation.

  I am innocent. I can prove it to you. But I will need your assistance.

  Stop h
edging, Manners. Out with it.

  I can give you the killer. Only it’s not going to be easy to catch him. He is capable of walking in two worlds.

  Manners filled me in. If I were in the waking world, my jaw would have dropped.

  So you see, Ms. Diggs. Your client is the murderer. He feigns sadness over his sister’s loss. But he is disturbed. And truth be told, I cannot provide you with any sensible motive for his crimes. He holds no grudges against realtors themselves. But I believe he orchestrated the murders in such a manner to point all blame towards me.

  Then tell me how I can help clear your name. How can I lure my client into a trap?

  He detailed a plan. We would simply lure the killer with the promise of another vulnerable real estate broker. There was only one problem. I could not pose as the realtor. And then another voice joined the conversation.

  Briana spoke.

  How’s it going, Judge Manners?

  Oh fine, except for this being-suspected-of-murder thing.

  Enough of the small talk--both of you! I shouted at them to cease their polite banter, yet I knew Manners couldn’t stop being the ladies’ man for a minute. It was ingrained in his demon DNA. And it only stood to reason. Incubi have to be smooth talking S.O.Bs to frequent as many female beds as they do.

  The judge suggested Briana move into one of Salem’s unoccupied homes, pretending to be a new real estate broker.

  Briana inquired how she should act.

  The judge suggested she feign arrogance and exuberance. Most importantly, she must develop an insatiable thirst for greed. I would have laughed, but Briana’s presence troubled and intrigued me. How could she be here? Was she, too, asleep and in a dream world, or did she know how to hack into mine? It raised my suspicions, but it also gave me ideas about how I might prevent my client from dream stalking any one of us.

  The dream ended. I did not know if the judge willed it or not. Maybe the protection spell actually prevented him from harming me and he simply gave up. Or he could be truly innocent. Either way, I had grown more suspicious of the pair each waking moment. How were they connected? Why would Briana make friends with a devil? And as blue moonlight washed over my room, I realized the entire conversation with Manners would be inadmissible in court, even if he had confessed to the killings. It made me wonder. What made Manners appear savvy? Was it because he was a demon, or was it because he was a real estate broker? At this point, Celeste probably still knew more than I did.

  A minute later, in the throes of a yawn, Celeste and Briana came bounding into my room. Briana carried a silver tea set. Before I could protest, she pushed a steaming cup of hot brown liquid into my face. “Drink this,” she commanded. Oh no, I thought. Maybe this is the part where I get turned into a rat.

  Four

  “Of course you have many questions, you’re an investigator.”

  Briana could belittle with the best of them. I charged at her with the fury of a stallion once the first orange and yellowish hues of dawn graced the summer sky. I demanded she tell me about her liaison with Manners. Why she was aiding him? Why should I believe my young client is a psycho? How could she have been included in the dream? She gave me a three-word answer.

  “I’m a witch.”

  “Oh,” I said. Like that was going to make up for her duplicity.

  “Before you sting me with another sarcastic thought, Caitlin, realize you now have more answers than you did before.”

  I flinched. If she’s telepathic, she knew I had been hiding details about my mysterious contact with the crystal since day one.

  “What you experienced last night may have provided you with more insight into the case than any vision.”

  I argued. “I don’t know about that. My visions aren’t colored by motives.”

  “What would be my motive, Caitlin?”

  I broke eye contact with her and stirred some honey into my tea. The tea brought to mind the spell. The anger welled up in me. If the judge was innocent, why was a spell necessary? And what if the spell wasn’t about protection? It could have been engineered for some other purpose, and if so, I couldn’t help but feel Manners was behind it.

  “Maybe Manners is coercing you, Briana. Gabriel Pierce showed a deep loss for his sister and he has no real motive, yet I’m supposed to take Manners’s word that he’s a demon. It sounds an awful lot like 17th century Salem if you ask me.”

  “You don’t have to believe a word of it right now. But if you adhere to our plan I think you’ll see things in a whole new light.”

  I accepted Briana’s challenge. Today we would convert a witch into a real estate broker.

  ~ * ~

  Two days passed. Manners and I helped Briana move into a newly listed home on Ward Street. We immediately erected a sign, changing Briana’s name to Maxine Winfield. It announced her as the new broker of Sunny Days Realtors. We even placed a phony ad in the Salem News. I cleared this with the chief of police, informing him that no one would be occupying the home--a lie--and that I was only hoping to bait Manners with the promise of a broker--another lie. In reality, Manners chose the house. The sellers were out of country for a week and would be none the wiser to the home invasion. Yes, for someone still suspicious of Manners, I was taking a very big leap of faith. A leap I hope wouldn’t result in the loss of my PI license or worse--another death.

  Amidst the box shuffling--a mover’s nightmare I’d promised I wouldn’t relive again for a minimum of five years, yet here I was, fumbling about with mugs wrapped in tissue paper--I paused to verbalize some concerns with Briana. She might have already heard them via telepathy, but that wasn’t going to stop me.

  “If Gabriel Pierce is our killer, and he’s an incubus, how do you intend to protect yourself?” I didn’t wait for her response. “What’s more, once he’s in your dream I won’t be able to stop him. I probably don’t have to remind you that I’m not a witch. So please promise me, you’re prepared for this, and that you have some nifty spell to ward off harm.”

  I didn’t verbalize my next thought, but Briana heard it.

  “I know, Caitlin. If anybody gets hurt it’s on your head.”

  “To be more precise, my head will be on the chief’s platter.”

  We smiled at each other, but we’re both too edgy to laugh with night looming in five hours. My instinct told me Pierce would strike tonight. It was only a gut instinct, not a vision. Strangely, I hadn’t had any semblance of a vision in a week.

  I proposed sleeping on a cot in the guest room. We could only manage to lug one complete bed into the house and that would be Briana’s. Pathetic as it sounds, we placed it in a first floor den, opting not to transport it to the second story.

  Briana approved of my plan and fell silent for the remainder of the day. Two hours later, I took a break from my cardboard nightmare and retrieved Celeste from my house. Something told me she would provide a lot more comfort than a weapon. Consequently, I left my gun at home in its drawer. If the police were to canvas the house and find we were taking up residence, the presence of a gun might push them over the edge to arrest us. The chief only approved of supplying the house with furniture, and in no uncertain terms did he waver in his stance of demanding I refrain from staying in the house. In reality, I was only supposed to be keeping a watch on the house in case Manners appeared. And when and if he did, I was supposed to abandon the scene and alert police. I guess Salem wasn’t home to many private investigators. They actually believed I would adhere to their rules. I returned to the house at sunset. We heated canned soup on the stove and ate it with the aid of Styrofoam bowls and plastic spoons. Yum!

  I settled in for the night with my stomach growling for real food and Celeste mewling for a couch. She never cared for cat beds, opting instead to recline on the plush confines of my three-piece leather sectional.

  Tonight, we would rough it though. I promised Celeste a can of salmon in the morning. I think she recognized the word for the pink colored fish, because she started purring and her
eyes stared back at me with a jewel like luster.

  I proceeded to become drowsy, still wondering how I could lay hands on Pierce; or whatever demon might happen to pop into Briana’s dreams. I still didn’t discount an appearance by Manners. If he was the killer, offing either Briana or me, in what was supposed to be a vacant house, might confuse the issue for police. I contemplated if I had volunteered for a trap. And I still wondered how Briana and Manners became connected in the first place. The next thing I knew…

  A presence hovered over my bed, just like three night ago. Only this time I was too stunned to speak. I had drifted into sleep, yet I wasn’t expecting company. The incubus should have set its sights on Briana. Now I wondered if Manners was truly in league with my next-door neighbor witch. And were they conspiring to kill me because I knew of their relationship?

  The liquid menace propelled itself closer to me. I threw my hands up in an attempt to shield myself. I knew I was alone. I felt it. It gnawed at my stomach like the salt laden soup. I felt no indication of Briana’s presence, nor did I find any trace of Celeste. I guess this answered my question about whether the gun might appear in my dreams because the cot had transformed itself into a luxurious king sized bed. I guess all bets are off during REM.

  The thing grasped my hands and began to morph into a human shape.

  Oh my God. At least that’s what I think I thought. It could have been much worse, because hovering above me with a set of beaming bedroom eyes was Gabriel Pierce. He looked exactly as the day he hired me except for one noticeable attribute: a six-inch horn protruded from his forehead. Oh, and he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing either.

  “I guess size matters,” he said in reaction to my wide-eyed amazement.

  I perused his body. He was long, hard and ready to go. By comparison, his organ made his horn look small.

  I had become captivated. As if in a dream, where you suddenly find yourself making love to a stranger, I began to lose all my inhibitions. I wanted it, if just for a moment. Yes, please my body said, begging for just one thrust of his outrageously delectable organ--not the horn on his head.