Devil's Taunt and Other Stories

by Percival Constantine

  “Now is your chance to beg for forgiveness,” he said. “Perhaps the Lord will show you more mercy than I’m capable of.”

  Holt gripped her jaw, forcing it open and he dangled the cross above her open mouth. Celeste shut her eyes, struggling to bite down. As the cross grew closer to her, she felt her strength waning, could already begin to feel the heat she knew it would inflict.

  Luther pulled himself to his feet, gripping his dagger and yanking it from his shoulder. His breathing shallow, but when he saw Celeste’s predicament, he knew he had to push through the pain. Luther mustered up what strength he could and clasped his free hand on Holt’s shoulder. Luther then buried the dagger into Holt’s back, right at the base of his spine.

  Holt spasmed, screaming in agony. He released Celeste and tried to grab the dagger. Luther stepped aside, allowing the vampire hunter to thrash around with what little movement he still had left. Luther grabbed him and threw him across the room. Holt stumbled over one of the chairs and his face hit the glass window.

  Luther picked up his revolver from the ground and took careful aim. Holt only managed to look over his shoulder as Luther fired several shots around him, weakening the glass. Luther’s next shot slammed into Holt’s chest and threw him through the window. Holt fell twelve stories, his life ending when his body struck the ground.

  He dropped the gun and moved towards Celeste and holding out his arm. Celeste pulled herself up, using his arm for leverage and the two leaned on each other. She stared at the shattered remains of the window and Luther stared at her face.

  “I have to see,” she said.

  Luther gave a nod and together they moved over to the window, looking out at Holt’s lifeless body lying far below.

  “Damn,” said Luther. “I was aiming for the river.”

  Celeste couldn’t help the snicker that escaped her lips. Luther just grinned.

  “Should we get out of here?” she asked.

  Luther nodded. “Fast. Let someone else clean up this mess.”

  * * *

  Wayne entered the Signature Lounge and walked through the dimly-lit room, scanning everyone seated at the various tables. Once he spotted the man he was searching for, he walked over to the small table up against the window. Luther sipped a glass of Glenlivet and stared out over Chicago’s brightly-lit skyline.

  “Thought I’d find you here,” he said as he sat down without even asking permission.

  Luther turned his head to his friend and downed the rest of the scotch. He raised his hand as a signal to the waiter. “What’s your poison?”

  “You know that’s not why I’m here, Cross.”

  “Humor me.”

  Wayne sighed and picked up the menu. He shook his head as he read the selections. “Jesus, the prices in this damn place…”

  “Just pick something.”

  The waiter approached with Wayne still studying the menu. “Uhh, Goose Island, I guess.”

  “Another Glenlivet for me,” said Luther, setting his empty glass on the table. “Put them both on my bill.”

  “Yes sir,” said the waiter and left.

  Wayne stared at Luther, his eyebrow cocked. “You’re buying? That’s a first. If I knew that, would’ve ordered something more expensive than beer.”

  “Consider it something of an apology,” said Luther. “Can’t imagine that mess at the Langham was easy to clean up.”

  “No, it wasn’t. You should’ve let me know what you were up to.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  The waiter came by with their drinks and set them on the table. Wayne sipped his beer, never moving his steel eyes from Luther’s face. “How’d you find him?”

  “I’m a connected man,” said Luther.

  “Not good enough.”

  Luther sipped his scotch. “I can’t tell you how I found him. All that matters is he was found.”

  “And you got into a fight with him in full view of witnesses.”

  “Any descriptions?”

  “Lucky for you there was nothing solid. No one could get a good look at you or the woman. Fight was moving too fast. And the talk of spontaneous combustion has convinced several people in the department that everyone was drunk off their asses.” Wayne pointed at Luther. “But if they had gotten a good description, we’d be having a very different conversation right now. You don’t know how hard it is to sweep shit like this under the rug.”

  “Look on the bright side—we got the bad guy. That’s what you wanted, right?”

  Wayne nodded and took another drink. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “What’s the official story?”

  “With two escorts dead, the third must’ve been spooked and hired a bodyguard to watch her back. He and the killer got into it, killer ends up dead, escort and bodyguard flee the scene. The machete he had contained traces of DNA that matched the two victims. Most figure that the guy who took him out deserves a freaking medal, so no one’s too interested in sniffing out any further leads.”

  Luther grinned and had another sip. “All’s well that ends well.”

  “For you, maybe.” Wayne looked out the window over the city. “Not too fond of cleaning up your messes, Cross.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

  “But I can’t argue with your results. You got the job done and I know there’s stuff out there no one on the force is equipped to deal with.”

  “So we’re good?” asked Luther.

  Wayne held up his beer glass. Luther raised his, but Wayne pulled back before the glasses could touch. “Only if you keep picking up the tab, though.”

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  Wayne chuckled and the two men clinked their glasses together.

  * * *

  Luther entered his penthouse and removed his overcoat, hanging it in the closet near the front door. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and pulled it off, walking into his bedroom. When he turned on the light, he saw Celeste lying beneath his silk covers. She leaned up on her elbow and the sheet fell just enough to show Luther that she wasn’t wearing anything.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here.” Luther threw his jacket on a bench and tugged at his tie to undo the knot.

  “Thought I’d come to give you your payment in person.”

  Luther looked her up and down and scoffed. “Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t do trade.”

  “Neither do I,” said Celeste. “There’s an envelope on your coffee table. I think you’ll find the amount more than generous.”

  Luther threw the tie on top of his jacket and unbuttoned his collar. He approached the bed, staring down at the woman beneath his sheets. “So what’s this all about?”

  Celeste sat up on her knees and tugged on his shirt, pulling him closer to her. She pressed her breasts against his chest and kissed him on his lips, her tongue sliding into his mouth. Luther fell into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her body.

  When Celeste broke the kiss, she looked up into his eyes. “I thought we could finish what we started the other night. If you’re still interested, that is.”

  Luther pulled away and walked to the door. Celeste huffed.

  “What?”

  He hit the light switch and came back to her, unbuttoning his shirt as he did and taking it off. Luther climbed into bed with her and the two writhed together, hands exploring each other’s bodies.

  “Ah!” Luther pulled back, touching his lip and finding a speck of blood.

  Celeste had a sheepish look on her face, her fangs extended. “Sorry, reflex.”

  Luther smiled. “No, it’s fine. In fact, gotta say I’m a little curious what it’s like.”

  Celeste smiled and moved to his neck, lightly running her fangs against his skin. “Then prepare for an experience unlike anything you’ve ever had before.”

  Haunted Road

  A Luther Cross Short Story

  The car pulled over to the side of the road, right near the cemetery gates. Five teenagers emerged from the car carrying fla
shlights and approached the gate with the sign WHITE CEMETERY on the side and several NO TRESPASSING signs.

  “C’mon, this way.” The leader was an eighteen-year-old named Roy Cresswell. Brent Middleton was by his side, also the same age. The other three were seventeen-year-old girls—Jenny Graeber, Zoe Chandler, and Dana Potter.

  Roy and Brent easily scaled the fence and hopped over to the other side. They looked through the bars at the girls.

  “I dunno about this,” said Zoe. “Isn’t this like, sacrilegious or something?”

  “When was the last time you went to church?” asked Jenny.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Don’t be a wuss, it’ll be fun,” said Dana.

  “Yeah, c’mon.” Brent shined the flashlight beneath his jaw. “You’re not afraid of ghosts, are you?”

  Zoe rolled her eyes and began to climb. Brent started to laugh. “That’s more like it!”

  Roy grabbed Brent’s arm. “Dude, keep your voice down!”

  Zoe dropped to the ground with Jenny and Dana following right behind. The three girls met up with Roy and Brent. Zoe shivered a little in the autumn chill. “So, what now?”

  “Now we go deeper,” said Roy, turning his light around the cemetery. A dense fog rolled across the ground, making it difficult to see, even with the flashlight.

  Jenny’s whole body shuddered. “This is really creepy.”

  “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” asked Zoe.

  Jenny gave a nod. “Yeah, but something feels…I dunno, different.”

  Brent stepped between the two and wrapped an arm around both of them. “Don’t worry, ladies. I’ll be sure to protect you if anything decides to come after you.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “Such a gentleman, huh?”

  Roy came to a dead stop a few feet ahead of the others. Dana stepped beside him. He stared off into the distance, almost in a trance-like state. Dana nudged him with her elbow. “You still with us?”

  Roy held up the light and gestured out further. Dana looked where he pointed and her hand went to cover her open mouth. Roy waved his hand for the others, saying, “Guys, come check this out!”

  Brent, Jenny, and Zoe hurried to meet their friends. They saw what both Roy and Dana saw. Off in the distance were strange, glowing orbs of light. Just hovering in the fog. They fluttered as if they were caught in the wind. Almost like they were dancing out there in the dark.

  “What is that?” asked Zoe.

  Brent gave a shrug. “Ghosts, maybe?”

  Floodlights came on, nearly blinding the group. They all turned immediately at the sound of a car engine revving. What they saw was indeed a car, an old, black one that was semi-translucent.

  “Forget the orbs, what the hell is that?” asked Brent, his voice quickly becoming a shout.

  “Run!” Roy turned after his cry and ran for the cemetery gates. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally to see that the others were still following him. They were, although he was faster than them.

  With every stride they made, the car’s engine seemed to grow louder. They could smell the exhaust fumes. The headlights felt brighter than ever. The car was gaining on them, and they thought they could hear something else through the roar of the engine.

  Something like…sobbing?

  Roy made it to the gate first, jumping and latching onto the fence. He quickly scrambled up and over, running across the street to where his car was parked. Roy fumbled with the keys, glancing over his shoulder just once to see Brent and Dana catching up to him. Somehow, he managed to unlock the doors.

  “Get in!”

  After issuing his command, Roy climbed into the driver’s seat, with Dana jumping into the back and Brent in the passenger’s seat. Roy turned the car over, then looked in the mirror. He looked over the seat.

  “Where’s Jenny and Zoe?”

  Brent looked out the window and saw Zoe jumping over the gate. She ran across the street and climbed into the back beside Dana. All eyes were now on Jenny, who was the last to scale the fence.

  As she reached the middle of the street, headlights fell upon her and the car engine roared. Jenny stopped and looked, the same ghostly car from the cemetery now barreling down on her. She couldn’t move, frozen in place. Her screams echoed down the road, lights in the nearby houses turning on as the car passed right through her body.

  The car vanished after that, dissipating into a fog. Brent opened the door and ran out into the road, where Jenny lay motionless on the asphalt. The others followed, standing over Brent as he cradled Jenny in his arms. He looked up at them and sniffled.

  “Sh-she’s not breathing…”

  * * *

  Luther Cross stepped out onto the balcony of his penthouse apartment, dressed only in a pair of shorts and a red silk robe. He leaned against the railing, his unnatural crimson eyes staring out on the city of Chicago as it was bathed in the morning sunlight.

  He reached into the pocket of his robe and procured a cigarette, which he lit with a gold lighter monogrammed with his initials. The occult investigator drew the smoke into his lungs before exhaling through his nostrils.

  A beeping noise came from the kitchen. Luther continued to smoke the cigarette and stepped back inside, closing the balcony door behind him. He was also sure to draw the curtains shut once more and he walked from the living room into the kitchen.

  Luther knocked the loose ash from the cigarette into a tray on the kitchen’s center island. He placed it between his lips again and took the pot from the coffee machine. He set two mugs on the counter and filled one nearly to the brim. The other he filled only halfway, then returned the pot to the machine.

  Expelling more ash from the cigarette, Luther then reached for the knife block. He took a small blade with a convex edge. He held his arm over the half-filled mug, squeezing his fingers into a tight fist. Luther pressed the blade to his dark skin, cutting into his flesh just a bit. He opened and closed his fist a few times to get the blood flowing and it poured from the wound and into the mug.

  Once it was filled, Luther dropped the knife into the sink and from the cabinet, got some gauze to quickly bandage his arm. He stirred the blood into the coffee and carried both mugs back into the bedroom.

  A naked woman lay beneath the silk sheets, her short dark hair tousled. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils and her eyes fluttered open, a smile spreading on her lips. She sat up slightly in bed, leaning against the pillow with the sheet draped over her body, staring up at Luther as he stood in the doorway.

  Luther stopped in his approach, taking a moment to admire the view. He grinned and walked over to her side of the bed, setting down the cup with blood in it. Luther walked around to his side and stamped out the cigarette in the ashtray before climbing into bed beside her.

  Celeste sat up and sipped the coffee, an ecstatic moan escaping her lips as she tasted his blood mixed in. She snuggled up beside him. “You sure know how to make a good cup of coffee.”

  Luther wrapped an arm around her body and sipped his own coffee. He and Celeste had only recently begun seeing each other. She ran one of the premium escort services in Chicago, catering to a specific kind of clientele—those who were interested in having a wild night with a vampire, and willing to pay through the nose for the privilege.

  But when a vampire hunter named Norman Holt started killing her girls, it got Luther’s attention. During the course of the investigation, sparks flew between Luther and Celeste and once Holt was dealt with, it was something they decided to pursue on a casual basis.

  The peaceful morning was interrupted by the ringing from the smartphone on Luther’s nightstand. He sighed and leaned over, setting the cup down and reaching for the phone.

  “Don’t answer it,” she said.

  “I’ve got to, could be a case. Need that money to afford this lifestyle.”

  “Why don’t you just let me be your sugar mama then?” she playfully bit his arm, nicking it with her fangs.

  “Cut it
out!” He looked at the phone’s display to see the caller’s name and then answered. “Sean?”

  Luther waited as Sean told him the story. As he tried to listen, Celeste dragged her fingernails up and down his chest. At first, they were so light that Luther could barely feel them. But with each stroke, she put a little bit more pressure on the nails until she began to leave scratch marks on his skin.

  “You’re serious?” asked Luther, trying to ignore Celeste’s touch. “And the girl’s dead?” He looked up at the clock on the wall. “It’s seven now. Let me shower and I can be out there probably by nine. No, why don’t we meet at that diner near your office, have some breakfast? Okay, see you then.”

  He ended the call and set the phone on the nightstand before taking another sip of his coffee. Celeste laid her head on his chest, rubbing his abdomen. “You’ve gotta go, huh?”

  “That was Sean Powell, he’s a local reporter out in Barrington,” said Luther.

  “Why’s he calling you?” asked Celeste.

  “Illinois has a lot of haunted places and some places are name-dropped more than others. I’ve established relationships with informants in these places. Usually reporters, but sometimes cops or even local government. They let me know if something comes up, and I pay them for the information if it leads to something.”

  “And Barrington is one of these haunted places?” asked Celeste. “Ghosts of rich people pissed their kids are wasting the inheritance?”

  Luther chuckled. “Not quite. Ever hear of Cuba Road?”

  Celeste shook her head.

  “It’s a small stretch of road, runs alongside an old cemetery. People have believed it to be haunted for years,” said Luther. “Not often something comes up, though. Mostly it’s just dumb kids scaring themselves.”