The Incubus Detective

by Breccan Storm

  As with most quests, Maven didn’t find what he was looking for until he reached the third and final location. The place was called “The Oasis Inn,” an ironic name considering Maven wouldn’t dare drink the tap water even if someone put a gun to his head.

  “Room two-oh-one,” the clerk said, without so much as looking at Maven. The guy didn’t even ask for a reason, and certainly didn’t even have “warrant” in his vocabulary. “He paid cash, brought a girl with him, they made each other scream for about an hour, and then she left.”

  “So you suspect he’s still up there?”

  “I try not to suspect things around here.” He tapped his head, still refusing to pry his eyes from the TV. “Hurts my imagination.”

  Maven thought the next question he was going to ask might be pushing his luck, but he went for it anyway.

  “Got a spare key?”

  Now the man turned to face him. They shared refracted eye-contact through the four-inch thick glass. This view gave a special-edition look at the bags under the clerk’s eyes, and the emptiness behind them.

  “You a murderer?” He asked.

  “Do I look like a murderer?”

  “Worse. What do you want a key for?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t use it. I’m just a collector. It’s an expensive hobby.” Maven slid a twenty-dollar bill under the glass.

  The clerk swiped the bill and took the key down from the rack behind him. He held it up.

  “This particular item is especially rare. Mint condition, too.”

  Maven groaned. At least he knew he had the guy’s loyalty, the question was how much it was going to cost. He rooted through his wallet, hoping he didn’t have to ask for change.

  “Antiques like that are hard to come by. I could raise you this much…” he dropped in another ten, “and throw in ‘not kicking down the door.’ Can’t beat a deal like that.”

  The guy seemingly didn’t respond well to threats, but the cash balanced his anger. He took the thirty bucks and handed Maven the key.

  “Knock yourself out. Just pretend you picked the lock or else I’m screwed.”

  Maven agreed to the terms and headed upstairs. Once he arrived at two-oh-one, giving in to a rare streak of courtesy, he knocked first. When there was no answer, he opened the door. The smell hit him before the sight. Neither of them were appealing.

  There lie Stanley Belman, D-O-A and not looking particularly fetching. His stinking corpse was clad only in a one-size-too-small, leather, crotchless thong. Maven wondered if the guy would still be wearing it under his suit at the funeral. On top of that, he hoped against odds that the deceased would be buried with the one other thing he still had… a rock hard erection that seemingly refused to take a bow, even post mortem.

  Judging by the anguished look on the guy’s face, he had died of a heart attack. The bounty of blue pills scattered on his bare chest and the aforementioned boner further validated this claim. Maven shook his head and offered a quiet eulogy.

  “He died doing what he loved… fucking strippers behind his wife’s back.”

  With that, he noticed that Mister Dead had seemingly left a suicide note taped to his dick, of all places. Maven delicately plucked it from the stalwart manhood and gave it a quick analysis. Most obvious of all, it was not scrawled in a man’s hand. The cursive style was refined and small, like that of a woman’s, left handed by the looks of it. Its message was clever, eloquent, and apt.

  “Thanks for the small gift! See you in hell, asshole!”

  Maven smiled, pleased with the entertaining piece of evidence he had just been granted. The infidelity surveillance case had just become a murder mystery. He liked those. After pocketing the note, he said his goodbyes to Stanley and Tiny Stanley, then took his leave.

  He had been expecting a long haul, chasing tenuous leads, digging up dirty evidence, and tossing threats left and right to elicit both things from various sources. For that prediction, he had quoted Miss Belman a three-day turnaround on her case, although he planned to make a nocturnal visit far before then.

  Since Stanley’s whereabouts had already been wrapped up, Maven decided to treat himself to a night of satisfaction. It would take far more than the cold, erect penis of a corpse to turn him off. Hell had adjusted his barometer in that sense. It was a nice night to swing by the old watering hole, the kind of place that was a favorite to many demons.

  Chapter 3

  Sister Esperanza removed her coif and veil, taking great pleasure in the nightly ritual of letting her hair down before a night of well-earned rest. She got down on her knees at the side of her bed and prayed to the lord, that he might mitigate the terrible crime culture in which the city had become so engrossed. Before standing again, she hesitated, and added a quick postscript.

  Please let the others in the convent come to accept me.

  Amen.

  Although the majority of the other sisters were as warm and welcoming as she had hoped, other more traditional or conservative nuns couldn’t seem to drop their scowls when she was around. She didn’t know why, but assumed this was because of her youth, her liberal attitude towards numerous issues, or oh God, hopefully not her Hispanic ethnicity. All three of those would be a part of her for some time to come.

  With prayer done, she continued her nightly routine by stripping down to her natural, naked state and slipping in between the sheets. It was mind boggling to her that after a full day spent wrapped up in a hot black robe, some of the sisters still wore long sleeve pajamas to bed. This thought frustratingly gave rise to another, and she soon found herself grappling with her oath of celibacy once again. Despite her hopes, that particular pill had not become easier to swallow after she solemnly committed to doing so.

  She hated to sound like a school brat, but the phrase came to her anyway: it wasn’t fair. She was young, and still had all of the drive that a woman her age should. The timing was consistent, too. This debate always seemed to reach her in the warmth of her bed, and consistently gave rise to a different kind of warmth. She felt her hand reaching down to meet it, desire struggling against faith.

  Tired as sin, she found herself nodding off, taking that heat with her.

  The man’s presence in her room brought a hot spike of fear. He was rugged-looking, possessed a devilish smile, and a horrible look of intent. And… that eye. It was almost completely white, and fitting of an albino. As strange as it was, it seemed charming in a way. As he approached her bed, rather than feeling terror at the invasion, Sister Esperanza’s anxiety slipped away. The man’s presence became soothing, and she soon realized that his entry into her room would have been impossible unless—

  She was dreaming. Suddenly she came to understand what he wanted, and knew all too well what she wanted as well. As if her unspoken prayer had been answered, she knew she was about to experience a wonderful dream, and the greatest blessing of all, it was a lucid dream. She would be able to give in to everything she craved without breaking her oath.

  She sat up in bed, still instinctively clutching the sheets to her chest, clinging to her fleeting privacy, but hot with excitement knowing that this man would soon be stripping everything away. God, how long had it been? She pushed that question away because she didn’t want to think about anything else, didn’t want a shred of her mind to exist anywhere but this room. It was all so delightfully real. Unlike most dreams, the scene had yet to jump around, or change. She almost wanted it to skip ahead, right to the part where he was in her bed and on top of her, before she woke up.

  That part never came, though. Instead of joining her, he reached under the covers, pulled her from the bed, and pressed her up against the wall. She let out a sharp exhale at the sudden cold, but immediately turned hot again as she felt his hands all over her. He was right behind her now, and she knew that even if she wanted to, she couldn’t get out from between him and the wall.

  His hot breath flowed down and around her neck, soon followed by the grasp of his hand, then a tug on her hair. He hadn
’t even touched her where it counted yet and already she was trembling, involuntarily standing on her toes as her body tensed from his groping, and the weight of him pushing up against her.

  “Please.” She hadn’t been apt to begging before, but she craved him so terribly that she was willing to get down onto her knees and pray to him, worship him. She felt one of his rugged hands working its way back up her silky skin, tauntingly, and she took one of his fingers into her mouth, wanting to turn and kiss him, but he wouldn’t allow it.

  Finally she heard the sound of his belt unclasping and she immediately reached back to feel him, just as his jeans dropped. “Big” was too simple a term, “perfect” was more like it. For all his taunting and delay, he pushed himself inside of her so suddenly that she gulped in a lungful of air at the force of the sensation.

  She had forgotten what it felt like, could barely even release a choked moan as she went completely rigid. Her hands clenched into fists as she stood even higher on her toes, trying but failing to ease herself away from his thrusting. She felt so woefully out of practice, unable to overcome her pleasure, relax, and fall into the fluid motions of the act.

  With that, the dream granted her wish, and she soon found herself loosening and gyrating her hips, pushing back on him. She felt so wrong, so guilty for giving in to her desire. She was performing the sin of sins and loving every second of it. Remembering that she had been granted a hall pass, she hurriedly formed a list of every act she wanted to experience and savor with this mysterious interloper of her dreams. It was a lengthy list. She thanked God again for her lucid, freewill in this fantasy, pulled away from the man, turned, dropped to her knees, and began performing a different kind of prayer.

  Chapter 4

  Maven shook off the delightful chill that always tended to strike after a lay as divine as Sister Esperanza. He slipped outside, refreshed, and entirely unnoticed. It was a night well done, and he figured he had earned himself some genuine rest.

  Ducking into the nearest side street, he was confronted with the undeniable truth that his night had only just begun.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Mav.” The voice seemed to grow its way towards Maven from the other end of the alley, like invasive vines.

  “Your timing is impeccable, Slay. As always.” Maven smiled and raised his hands in mock-welcome of his adversary, then removed his overcoat. He already knew how this meeting would end. The truth was, Cassius Slay would never, ever be welcome within three city blocks of Maven. Prime reason being: the half devil, half giant, was a demon hunter.

  Maven didn’t like the idea of anyone considering him to be “prey,” but he couldn’t quite seem to talk Cassius Slay out of the mindset. Being over seven feet tall seemed to go straight to the devil’s head. His crystal blue eyes were framed by his long, auburn, flowing hair. Maven always thought that the fashion choice of hair that emulated fire was a little “on the nose” for a devil, but Cassius seemed stuck in his ways on that end, too.

  “How was your jaunt on the holy side?” The devil smiled. “I hope she was good.”

  “Because she’ll be my last?” Maven asked with a groan.

  “Maybe so, but that’s not what I was going to say. I was just being polite.”

  “Could we get this over with?” Maven asked. “I’ve got things to do.”

  Cassius responded only by issuing a command in ancient tongue, which triggered the deployment of his concealed weapon of choice. The devil’s iconic and revered greatsword unfolded into existence within a second. Maven knew the weapon all-too-well. Its magical properties brought it crashing through most demons’ natural defenses. To make matters worse, the blade was positively oozing with poison made specifically for demons. If it got into Maven’s bloodstream, it would slow his reflexes, thus throwing him out of the fight.

  “You’d make a great magician,” Maven said. “I have a trick of my own, now. Will you excuse me just one moment?” He started his transformation into fighting form, but Slay showed no quarter. As the devil charged down the alley at him, Maven’s adrenaline became heightened. Tattooed and scarred black wings spread from his shoulders like a blown cloak.

  Slay was rapidly closing the distance between them, sword held high for a killing stroke. Maven held his ground, confident that he would be fully transformed and ready to give his old devil friend a warm welcome, with time to spare. The evil that Maven normally kept concealed beneath his wit and coy grin now rushed into his face. Jagged horns sprouted from his head. His body darkened. His muscles bulged.

  Cassius Slay leapt high, and pulled back his weapon in preparation for a piercing kill. Maven’s transformation complete, he reached to his back and pulled two runed, long daggers. He took flight, rising above Cassius and forcing the devil’s blade into nothing but air.

  “Really?” Maven asked. “The old run and stab?” He corkscrewed through the air, aiming to breach Slay’s long reach, get inside, and land whatever stabs and slices he could. His maneuver worked, but at the cost of a minor cut on his arm. He could already feel the poison’s presence there, though its worse effects wouldn’t be felt for about another minute.

  Maven took a counter swing, then spun out and back from the giant’s range. Slay laughed, enjoying the cut on his opponent’s body.

  “Poor way to start out a fight, Mav.”

  “Same to you, gushy.” Maven pointed to Slay’s leg, which was now issuing forth a torrent of blood. Slay might have had his poison, but Maven’s daggers possessed the powers of bloodletting. Cassius’ wound would be releasing an excess of blood for the remainder of the fight. The giant devil roared and came in swinging, again. Maven bobbed, ducked, and weaved.

  On a few occasions, he tried and failed to stop the momentum of Slay’s brutal swings. This was not a game of blocking and bludgeoning for Maven, but one of dodging. Leaping into a high flight would only break up the combat, and once again put Maven on the outside of the giant’s defenses. He didn’t want distance. He needed to stay close. Instead of using his wings for altitude, Maven flicked them here and there, accelerating shuffles left, right, and under Slay’s advances.

  The two crushed into each other, repeatedly, like opposing ocean waves. For his size, Cassius was incredibly nimble. From their current close quarters, Maven could see but tried not to think about the various battle scars that littered the devil’s body, likely formed with the help of fallen demons. Maven was determined to keep from being reduced to a mere scar-story, one that Slay could point at and say, “this one was a pain in the ass.”

  The poison started kicking in, and Maven’s muscles began to relax against his will. He began to play a more cautious game, landing back fists instead of blades, just to make sure he didn’t take any additional hits. Fortunately, Slay looked like Maven felt. The devil was a complete and bloody wreck, drenched in his own crimson from minor cuts that were letting out an unnaturally plentiful amount of blood.

  As much as he liked a good clean fight, Maven wished his powers of charm had an effect on Slay. Sending an incubus into battle without his charisma was like sending a human into one with one arm tied behind his back. All things considered, though, Maven was doing pretty damn well.

  Cassius was grunting with each pained breath now, swinging wildly, letting his rage get the best of him. The devil suddenly lost his footing, slipping on the pavement that had been slicked by his own blood. Maven seized the opportunity, pouncing to land his kill, but received a giant foot in the chest instead. The demon was send backwards, raising his wings like airbrakes to prevent the fall from doing unnecessary damage. He landed on his feet, sliding backwards from the force of the kick. Cassius ducked into a combat roll and quickly rose into a fighting stance.

  “Déjà vu,” Maven said. “Have we done this before?”

  Enraged, Cassius ran in for another assault, and the two were at it again, blades clanging, feet shuffling, teeth gritting. Maven was on the defensive, evading more than swinging, but it was only a matter of time before Slay
tired himself out. Blood loss was a powerful ally.

  So is poison, Maven thought, as he felt his heart beginning to slow.

  “BOYS!” Her voice was so out of context, so unexpected, that the two warring forces of evil actually stopped and backed away from one another. Neither let their guard down, though.

  “Dionis,” Maven said. “Your just in time. Ever see a devil’s heart pump itself dry?”

  “I didn’t know they had hearts,” Dionis said, gliding down to the bloody battlefield, coming to a rest at Maven’s side. As she spoke, she showed her fangs, threatening Slay in only a subtle way. She looked at Maven, in his glorious demonic form. “You’re even sexier with wings.”

  “Nice guns,” Cassius said, making a point to ogle directly at Dionis’ ample breasts. Still panting, he squinted, searching out the details in the succubus’s tight dress. “Oh, nipple rings, too.” He laughed with the roaring quality that one would expect of a giant, then magically collapsed his greatsword into the palm of his hand. “We’ll continue this little party soon.”

  With a sly wink, he disappeared before their very eyes.

  Maven let out a relieved gasp as he slowly returned to human form. He nodded to Dionis.

  “You must have read my mind.”

  “I’d like to read more than that, sweetie.” She shot him a sexy look, firing up every seductive trick in her succubus repertoire. “But you’re welcome. Do you need some special care?” The last word was breathed more than spoken. She adjusted her dress, revealing one step closer towards her nipple rings.

  Maven smiled. It was cute that she thought she could beat Maven at his own game. He usually flirted back with her, leading her on, but—