Feeding Frenzy (The Summoner Sisters Book 1)

by Allison Hurd

  “I didn’t realize how important dancing was for monster fighting,” he shouts in my ear when he can get close enough. I grimace painfully, unable to muster a better welcome for him.

  “Oh...yeah. Lia and I are experimenting with it.”

  He actually guffaws. Add “guffawing” to the list of things you don’t really know how to define ‘til you see it. Over the crowd, I see Steve waving. He gives Lia and me a thumbs up and puts his hand on his wrist, signaling break time.

  “C’mon, Gregor. Wanna chat outside?”

  “You betcha.”

  I smile weakly and weave through the patrons to the front door. Outside, we trail away from the crowd of smokers and various drunk people until we have some modicum of privacy without looking too suspicious.

  “So,” I begin. “What brings you down to Roanoke?”

  “Have a job I’m trackin’ through the area. Got your email. Thought I’d stop by.” He cracks a lopsided grin. “Feelin’ pretty good about that decision, too.”

  “Well, always glad to make a fool of myself for other people’s entertainment,” I say sarcastically.

  “This part of the gig?”

  “Well...partly. Our target’s been known to hunt in these waters.”

  “But you coulda just hung around the bar if that was your plan.”

  “I guess. The other part is we needed some cash.”

  “Easier ways to earn a buck,” he observes.

  “Not that presented themselves to us faster’n this one.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “You’re not enjoying the five finger discount?”

  I clear my throat a little. “No, Gregor, no. Lia and I are sort of doing this all above board. I know. This is much more glamorous. Make sure you credit us when you make the switch.”

  “Can you see me fittin’ my gut in that little get-up?” He laughs again. “Naw, ‘fraid prostitution ain’t my callin’.”

  “Whoa, no one’s prostituting anything.”

  “It’s mighty convenient, bein’ able to practice both arts at once,” he continues as if he hadn’t heard what I said, or the warning I had tried to convey with it.

  “Listen, dude, tips are for serving food and putting up with the public for hours on end. That’s the full list of services I offer.”

  “Of course. Sure your daddy’s right proud of you girls.”

  I cluck my tongue impatiently. Part of me wants to get in his face for talking shit like that, but Gregor’s a scary mofo. In person, you can really see how’s he’s cultivated such a reputation. His face is more scar than skin, and he’s freakin’ enormous. Seriously. If he laid off the beer, he could probably give The Rock a run for his money. “Getting in his face” would in fact require that I get a step stool.

  “Gregor, I’m workin’, man. Why are you here? Got intel?”

  “Might know a thing or two,” he hedges, sizing me up. Like I said, I don’t have a poker face. I can lie all right, but trying to get my expression to convey emotions I’m not feeling is a totally different skill set, and I’m missing it. I can tell you the pen is blue when it’s black, and probably get you to believe it. Ask me to look sad when I’m happy though, and it’s game over. If ever I was fool enough to try to play cards with a professional, they’d probably know my hand, social security number, guilty-secret celebrity crush and my bank password before I’d finished counting the chips to deal in. That being the case, he can likely tell that my initial reaction was to clock him as easily as I can see that he hasn’t seen a dentist maybe ever.

  “If you’re lookin’ for a pay out, this machine’s closed. Tell me or not.” I try to swallow the angry words that threaten to spill out. Humility is a virtue, after all, and I could certainly use a few more virtues as a general rule. “But I’d take it kindly if you had anything that could help us find the kids.”

  “I know it’s seven people missin’. I know that whatever it is, it ain’t your garden variety spirit. And I know if you keep backin’ it into a corner, it’s gonna get messy.”

  I look at the large man warily. “What are you saying? Do you know what it is? How do you know about the boys?”

  He snorts derisively. “I can follow a trail colder’n a witch’s teat—even through social media. I ain’t that old. I couldn’t rightly say what it is, exactly. But I do know I been doin’ this a long time, and it smells like a bigger storm than you predict. I’m sayin’ this now outta concern, but maybe you girls should leave this one to someone who can lift a little heavier.”

  That really gets to me. Sorry folks, we’re closed. No more fucks to give.

  “Hey, how ‘bout you let us decide what exactly our fightin’ class is, huh? This isn’t our first match, Gregor. We’re not fuckin’ amateurs.”

  “I wasn’t sayin’ you were. You did good work with those ghuls, I hear. I’m not tryin’ to take that from you. Just sayin’ this isn’t a pack of ghuls, is all.”

  “Do you know what it is, or not?” I ask, gritting my teeth in a last ditch attempt to check my temper.

  He clenches his jaw and purses his lips. “No.” He finally grinds out.

  “Well then, I appreciate the warning. We’ll be extra careful when we find these sons of bitches and send ‘em howling back to whatever weirding will claim ‘em. Thanks for comin’ out.”

  He looks ominously at me, and even as I walk away I prepare to have to deflect a swing, either physically or verbally. Most people don’t talk to Gregor like that. I definitely should not talk to Gregor like that. But more importantly, he shouldn’t talk to me like that.

  “Well then, take care now, Summer. An’ watch out for that pretty little sister of yours.”

  He hops back into the cab of his truck and splits before I can think what to say to that. Was he trying to be civil? Or is he threatening us? It’s hard to tell with stoic types like him. Either way, when I grow up, I’m gonna be big enough to beat it out of him.

  Mad, I walk back in, looking for Lia. I would like to rant for a second, and she should hear what he said in case she can glean anything else from it. I look at her keg. Someone else is on it. I scan the bar area: no Lia. My earring is vaguely warm. I check the kitchen, the alleyway behind it, and the bathrooms. The increasingly familiar feeling that maybe this is really it, I’ve finally lost her rises uncomfortably as I approach hysteria.

  “You seen Lia?” I ask Maggie and a few of the other girls. Nada. I am in full on panic mode, with five minutes left of my break.

  “Hey, Steve? Where’s Lia?” I ask in desperation.

  “She went on break a few minutes ago. Think she headed towards the front door.”

  My eyes scan the darkened recesses closest to the door. There. I see her. Relief washes over me for a second, until the earring starts rapidly heating up. My breath catches in my chest when I see who else is with her. I begin power-walking to her as if drawn by a magnet.

  His hair is blonde today, and long, tied back in a messy braid. But the body is unforgettable. The fucking monster is chatting up my sister.

  I grab a towel from a passing busboy and take off a few rings that comprise most of the materials that monsters detest. I put them back on over the towel, so that I have a makeshift glove held on crudely by my rings. And then I sock the thing in the face as it leans in to my little sister. I follow through the hit, bum rushing it up against the wall.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I growl at it. Its hands go up and Lia slumps forward, like she’s broken free of a trance as soon as the monster’s fingers leave her hand.

  “Whoa, hey, lady, we’re just talking,” the thing says, flinching away from my monster shock glove.

  “What are you? Why are you here?” Ophelia is slowly recovering from the effect of his toxin, for which I send a silent prayer of thanks. I came in time. Thinking about the alternative makes me angrier, and I grab its arm tightly with my protected hand. A quick look at the rings tells me that it is the oaken one that seems to be the most painful to him, meanin
g he is probably in the Greek pantheon. This is confirmed as the arm I hold begins to blacken, and his eyes turn fluorescent blue. With a small screech, he pulls away, hissing at me.

  “Is everything okay?” asks the bouncer Lia had flirted with previously. The black arm and blue eyes fade instantly, leaving what appears to be a man, my dazed sister and my towel-shrouded self in a small, intimate space.

  “We’ll be fine,” I manage to say, not wanting some other poor civvy to become the monster’s thrall.

  “I’ll be close,” the bouncer says significantly, giving the creature a menacing look.

  The monster grabs for Lia when we’re alone again, obviously hoping for a human shield. I slam my high heeled foot down on the part of the shoe I believe contains whatever sort of foot it’s hiding and am rewarded with another hiss. It turns the table over on us, spilling drinks and breaking glass. I move to intercept Lia before she smacks her head on the wall, making a sound to vent my frustration as the creature takes the opportunity to escape.

  “Fuck!” I mutter to myself as it bounds out the front door. I turn my attention to my shivering baby sister.

  “Lia. Hey, Lia. Talk to me. You okay?”

  Steve chooses that moment to come over. “Summer, you’re late. Break’s over.”

  I glare at him. “Something’s happened to Lia!”

  He looks at her in confusion. She’s sweating, slowly shaking her head to clear it.

  “Is she on something? Is she drunk? You know it’s against policy…”

  “No! Please. Just get us some water and a chair.”

  This is done, and Steve leaves us for a moment.

  “Lia, hey chica. You with us?” I press the oaken ring into the hand I’d seen the thing touch. Her skin turns pink for a second, but her trembling slows down and her pupils contract a little. It’s a start.

  “Summer?” She finally becomes coherent. I hug her, trying not to cry from the relief that washes over me. “That was the weirdest feeling…”

  “How are you girls doing? Can we go back to work?” Steve asks awkwardly.

  I look at Ophelia and she nods weakly. Perhaps as an apology for having to be an asshole about sticking to the work schedule, he assigns us to the same tub. Lia stands nearby and passes out Jell-O shots while I continue dancing. I watch her carefully. Aside from being a little drained, she appears to be okay, for which I offer another prayer of gratitude. We only have a couple hours of our shift left, but talking is hard with the crowd growing as the night wanes. Finally, it’s closing time and I practically carry my exhausted sister to our car.

  “How you holding up, girlie?” I ask.

  “It was so weird...it was like being on ‘E’ or something. I could feel everything. It was nice. Also scary, though.”

  So, we were right. It’s a monster with a contact high. I skip over the question of how my little sister knows what the drug ecstasy feels like. Some things don’t need to be shared.

  “And what the hell were you doing, talking to a guy when we know something is on the prowl?”

  She groans. “I knew you’d yell at me.”

  “I’m not yelling. I’m asking what was going on with you.”

  “Right. Not mad, just disappointed.”

  “Lia…”

  “Can we do this later? I have a headache.” She sulks and refuses to talk to me the rest of the way to the motel.

  We get inside, still not speaking to each other. Defeated, I change and sit on the bed, following Lia’s movements as I wait for her to thaw.

  “I’m sorry I said that,” I finally apologize.

  “No, you were probably right. I was feelin’ overly confident, and he wasn’t dark at all. By the time I got suspicious, I thought I could nab him myself. I didn’t expect the drug effect to be that bad. All the other victims had been drinking, thought that had something to do with it.” She laughs bitterly. “Looks like I owe you again.”

  “Nah, it could have happened to either of us. I know what it is now, and once it’s caught your attention, not much you can do about it, sans a full hazmat suit.”

  “You know what it is?”

  “Think so…and the good news is, I don’t think it’s a pack.”

  “Okay. Walk me through your ‘eureka’ moment and tell me what the bad news is.”

  “Not so much of a ‘eureka’.... More like ‘if it walks like a duck’.…”

  My sister waits impatiently. She’s mad at herself for getting tagged, and pissed at me for being protective. I get it. But I’m still working out what all of the things in front of me mean, and trying not to get mad at her, too. I mean, seriously. We’re professionals. I’m not against finding good lookin’ guys for a little quality time, but time and place. Neither of which are at work, or while we’re tracking a face-changing varietal of psychotic sex monster.

  “So what is it?” she eventually asks in clipped tones.

  I let out a small sigh of exasperation, pushing back my earlier thoughts. “Incubus. Slash succubus.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Incubus succubus, so the myth goes, are the same thing. They can change sex and appearance to that which is most attractive to their prey, and also in order to...obtain any required genetic material. I’m just gonna call it an incubus for now, but incubi can’t reproduce without human genetic material. So, that could be part of what we’re seeing. Otherwise, and I think this makes more sense, it could just be feeding. However, there is a giveaway when you’re tracking an incubus. No matter what face or...fun bits it might have, it can’t alter its feet.”

  “Its feet.”

  “Yes, specifically the part where their feet are actually duck feet.” This seems to lighten her mood a little bit. Perhaps she’s picturing the male model Viking she was talking to with duck appendages.

  “So, when it goes to kick up its heels, it has—”

  “Webbed, scaly toes, yes.”

  “And when you say feeds…”

  “As far as I know, it’s not interested in the meat part of the human. It feeds on lust.” She quirks an eyebrow, an indication that she’s choosing to find humor in her near miss. The humor quickly disappears though as she formulates her next question.

  “Are you saying that it ra—,”

  “No,” I cut in quickly. “No. Like I said, it feeds on lust. I guess if it’s trying to procreate then yes, there’s a physical act, but all the lore on that front says that the incubus must be...invited. It’s actually hurt if it tries to coerce a human’s will. But if it was trying to procreate, it wouldn’t need to keep this many people—it’d either go for a few one night stands, or pursue just the one sex, depending on its inclination. I think it’s feeding, which means it gets ‘em all riled and basks in the admiration.” She relaxes again, the mischief returning to her face.

  “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad then, all things considered.”

  “Yeah, except that’s the bad news. Remember those mice in the lab? Got two buttons, one for pleasure, one for food?”

  “Uh, yeah I think so. Some died ‘cause they chose the pleasure button over the food button?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh. Oh. So it literally loves them to death.” She pauses to absorb that information. “Hell of a way to go though.”

  “Yes. It’s totally not murder as long as it taps ‘em good on the way out.”

  “Easy now. Point the sarcasm somewhere else. I’m on board. I realize the full potential of how terrible this could be, and would very much like to be part of how his plan is foiled. Or...her...their plan.”

  It’s my turn to be angry at myself. “God damn it. If I hadn’t been such a freakin’ spaz, I could have gotten the fucker before it took Shane or poisoned you.”

  “This may come as an enormous shock, Summer, but you can’t actually stop all bad things from happening to all people. I know. You hate that. But you’ll make all our lives more bearable if you realize that no god in any pantheon we’ve ever heard of has that powe
r, and you, as talented as you are, are no god.”

  Ophelia is an award-winning truth bomber, and I do hate it.

  “No. You’re right. I’m sorry I bust on you sometimes, and I’m sorry I’m a terrible martyr. Hard habit to break. And I could have had it!”

  “Okay. Summer? Tryin’ real hard to move forward. It’s late, I’ve been doped, my feet are sore, and I’m officially out of social skills. We talk next steps, or I force feed you Ambien, and we pick this up in the morning.”

  That’s fair. I hold up a hand to signify the truce.

  “Almost forgot. Ran into Gregor,” I say.

  “Gregor? Bear man with half a face chewed up, Gregor?”

  “The very same.” I quickly fill her in on his suspicions, warnings, and vague threats, tactfully leaving out the extraneous bits.

  “What the hell does that mean? Why would he stop his own case to come and tell you a boatload of nothing?” she inquires when I’m done.

  “Got me beat. Haven’t had as much time to mull it over as I’d intended this evening.”

  “He’s a dick. It’s my turn.” She smiles grimly at me.

  “For what?”

  “For me to say this: I have a bad feeling about this….”

  “Ha. Yeah. Not jiving well with me either. What are you thinking?”

  “Gregor’s not really the motherly type. If he’s dropping in to say we should butt out, then everything in me says we should stay fully butted in.”

  I wince at the word choice. “I take exception to your phrasing, but I can’t disagree with your conclusion. So, how exactly do we stay sufficiently ‘butted in’? Where do incubi take their food?”

  She thinks for a second. “Is it at all helpful if I say that when I think about it, all I wanna do is convince it to go someplace where I can have them all to myself?”

  I blink at her. “You want to have the incubus?”

  “Did you see them? Dude was gorgeous!”

  “Even if you knew it…fine, they’d kill you?”