NSFW. I repeat, NSFW. You’ve been warned, ok?
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Disclaimer: This short story is something of a practice story, and it contains explicit content. Again, this is NSFW, 18+, kids go away. I would be hard pressed, however, to call it “an erotic story”. This was written to amuse more than to titillate.
Now, the spectrum of human sexual experience is broad enough that it’s technically possible that someone might be aroused by my stories. If that’s you, I’m happy for you. You’re weird, but in a good way. 😉
I’ve published this story elsewhere before now, but it’s time to properly own up to what I have done. This is the first story I ever wrote in this universe, and God knows it could use some polishing. Please temper your expectations accordingly.
Characters:
- Ordan St. Catar – Member of the Society of Stalwart Companions, AKA the Sidekicks. Professional Companion to Bluebell Darna.
- Bluebell Darna – Member of the Hero Contingent.
“The people of Kingsmount might have built their city on top of a number of unspeakable things, but they take comfort in this: at least they didn’t build a city on a lake just because some meat-eating bird had lunch there. Their cousins to the south did just that, and have had cause to regret it; Kingsmount may have monsters, but it never quakes.” – Martin Mudbeetle’s Handy Guide to Kingsmount
Ordan St. Catar was having a slow day, thanks be to any god who cared. The hall of the Stalwart Companions was, for a change, not full, and he was taking advantage of this rare moment to have a quiet lunch. There was no Bluebell, no monster to hunt, and the Old Man wasn’t breathing down his neck via her lackeys. Best of all there were no fucking civilians begging for help because they summoned a demon “as a prank”.
Yesterday had been interesting that way, and Ordan had had quite enough of ”interesting”.
What there was, was a simple beef stew. It had potatoes, carrots, some diced onions, and a healthy dose of spices: paprika, turmeric, and a few different kinds of pepper. This sort of stew was not common to Kingsmount, but it was simple to prepare in large quantities, and the staff at the Hall had quite enough to do.
He was seated alone at a long, sturdy wooden table with benches on either side, surrounded by the scents of old beer and wine, sweat that had soaked into the wood, leather armor, the oils used for cleaning weapons, and the stew, of course. This was paradise, and so it clearly could never last.
The Old Man herself walked in, flowing through the room like the anger of the universe. Ordan had been on break for one minute too long, been happy for one instant too many, and the gods would have their revenge. It would be bad; bloody, even. You always knew it would be bad when the Old Man was smiling.
The ancient woman sat down in front of Ordan, her own bowl of soup in one hand, and a solitary piece of paper in the other. With the corners of her mouth still slightly upturned, she began to wolf down the stew. She looked as though she were no older than sixty-five, and well-preserved at that. Her long grey hair framed a round-ish, innocent-looking face, her skin was the color of coffee with the barest hint of cream, and her eyes seemed as if they’d seen the dawn of time.
Well… there were rumors about that, but people usually left the city far behind before they’d give voice to that sort of thought. This woman could rule the city if she cared to, perhaps the nation. She just didn’t want to, and no one wanted to give her any reasons to reconsider.
Ordan eyed the paper. There was a time and place for formality, but the Old Man wouldn’t stand for ceremony during the course of an ordinary work day. He opted for the casual approach.
“You brought me an assignment your very own self. Is it that important?”
“Hmm?”
She raised her eyes from the stew, and glanced at the paper herself.
“Oh, gods no. I just wanted some damned lunch. I’ve been talking to the Trade Council all morning.”.
Her voice was strong, and her diction was clear. She was accustomed to making herself heard, by any means necessary. Nonetheless, Ordan grunted in sympathy with her situation. He preferred the monsters to the Trade Council, himself.
“Standard murder… possibly.” she continued, “Only one man gone so far, but it has all the signs of a magical creature. I want it taken care of before anyone starts to panic.”
Ordan nodded, and slid the paper around so he could read it. There was little enough information. The unfortunate man had disappeared from the Foundry, Kingsmount’s manufacturing district. The body had reappeared, as so many did, in an alley amongst the many factories there.
What made people suspect magic was that, firstly, he hadn’t been robbed until his fellow factory workers found him. Secondly, he’d died with an ecstatic smile on his face. He had sustained damage from a fall, according to the coroner, but that apparently hadn’t affected his mood.
People, if they’re very lucky, might die with a sense of contentment, perhaps even happiness, while surrounded by family and friends. When that happens people say things like, “That’s lovely, even if it’s a bit sad. That’s how I’d like to go, if I can’t go out while uh… you know…”
Bodies found smiling manically in an alley tend to have the opposite effect on observers.
Ordan’s heart sank.
“Oh gods on a stick, not again!”
The Old Man grinned wickedly at him.
“But you did so well with the last one!”
“She tortured me.”
“In a sense, certainly, but you weren’t truly the worse for wear. Besides, you only have to wait for Bluebell to show up and kill it.”
That much was true. Ordan was just the sidekick; Bluebell would do the actual killing. The only problem was that to catch a Succubus, you usually needed bait. Ordan was a young man of twenty-two, for all that he’d seen more harrowing violence than many a career soldier. His profession kept him fit, and he had sharp features. He’d win no beauty contests, but his not-quite-narrow face, medium-brown skin, and green eyes had made more than a few ladies think, “He’s alright. I could do worse.”
If he wandered a few back alleys at night, smelling of alcohol and desperation, and putting on his best puppy eyes, it’d probably work. It had before.
Ordan sighed.
“We’ll do it, of course.”
The Old Man’s smile softened.
“That’s what I like about you, young man. You care. I sincerely hope you can hold on to that.”
Ordan shrugged awkwardly. Older people had a habit of saying things like that to him, and it never felt right.
“I guess. I’ll get going.”
“Tell Bluebell I’ve got my eye on her.”
Ordan left. He wouldn’t tell Bluebell what the Old Man had said, because she already knew. Why the two women never got along was something Ordan might never understand. They were both smart, competent people, and the reason for their animosity would not be a petty one… but it wasn’t his business.
He sighed lightly, and walked off in the direction of Bluebell’s apartment. It was time to work.
Bluebell Darna was the unfortunate victim of parents who insisted on giving cute names to girls. It wasn’t entirely their fault. They expected their adorable baby girl with light brown eyes would live ‘til about the age of thirty at the most, and die giving birth to what was hopefully her second or third child.
Let us be clear: that’s not at all what they hoped for, only what they expected.
They could not possibly expect that she’d become a three-hundred-year-old wizard with the social skills that the gods traditionally reserve for the less charismatic rocks. Kingsmount is close enough to the equator of this world (which we will call “The Accident” hereafter) that her pale skin stood out amongst those who’d been born locally.
A studious wizard she might be, but she worked with her hands, and spent a lot of her time running after (and away from) various cataclysmic events, monsters, and potential suitors (but I repeat myself). Thus, she was lean, even sinewy. She had a slightly narrow face, and hair that she had allowed to go grey, while the rest of her looked a healthy forty-five years of age.
Ordan found her hunched over her latest tome of magic, as she usually was. Oh, she did mix it up a bit. There were times when she was reading a tome she’d found, and there were times when she was writing one of her own, but almost always there was a tome.
She looked up when he came in. She never bothered with the niceties, and she wasn’t going to start today.
“You’re supposed to knock, aren’t you? I know you’ve said something to me about that at least once.”
“Twelve times. And I did.”
He had, though it was common for her to simply ignore any sounds that had nothing to do with her current task.
“Ah. Work?”
“From The Old Man her own self.”
She scowled as he placed the sheet of paper on her desk beside the book.
“She have anything to say, this time?”
“That she loves me like a son, and loves you more.” Ordan said brightly, his tone not entirely concealing his sarcasm.
Sarcasm, thankfully, was something Bluebell would recognize, and one side of her mouth upturned ever so slightly, for about half a second, maybe less.
To truly understand the whole of another person, you have to know them as well or better than you know yourself. In Bluebell’s case, you could make a lot of progress just by looking at her apartment. The apartment was large, as befit her station, salary, and her needs. And she needed books. There were books on every conceivable table, side table, extra desk, and shelf. There were no decorations, and what might be charitably called the living room held only two serviceable padded wooden chairs.
However, the stacks of books were neat. The desk was meticulously organized, as were the shelves of powders, dried plants, and other common spell ingredients in the back of the apartment. The kitchen table had just enough space clear for eating, and the dishes were scrubbed clean. The air smelled of paper, but tasted like the kind of fresh air you’d find on a northern winter’s night, or (as it was in this case) after one of the more potent cleaning spells had run its course.
Bluebell read the file, then maintained a full-blown smirk for the entirety of two seconds, which was a record for her.
“Another one?”
“Apparently we did so well with the last.”
“I should leave you with this one for longer. You wouldn’t talk to me or anyone for five whole days after what she did to you. I got a good bit of work done here.” she said, gesturing at her books.
Ordan scowled lightly.
“Sooner, please.”
She stuck a cigar in her mouth, but neglected to light it.
“I suppose, if you aren’t having too good a time with her…”
Ordan controlled himself. She knew very well that waiting even a second too long could get him killed — devoured by a succubus, no less — whereupon he would probably be eternally humiliated by his ancestors.
“I said…” she began to prod, not yet realizing he wouldn’t take the bait.
“I know what you said.”
“Oh. And I thought I’d actually made a joke that time.”
“You did. You’re just telling it to the wrong audience.”
“Right, right. Different jokes to different people. Never figured out how to decide which jokes I should be telling to which people.”
Ordan sighed, “You basically can’t tell until you try, and you have to try with almost everyone you talk to.”
“That… is too much work. And I already have too much work.”
Ordan’s bright tone was genuine this time, though somewhat muted, “That’s why I’m here. We need to go now, if we’re to make it to the Foundry. There’s a rush on this one.”
“Right, right. Murders are bad, magical murders make everyone nervous, and magical murders that involve sex are likely to start a panic. Sex always seems to make people panic. Morons.”
Ordan shrugged, and inclined his head in agreement, “That’s the way of it. Though we have to actually be sure it was murder.”
Bluebell nodded and sighed, “Let me get my working dress on, and we’ll go.”
The Foundry was the center of the city, the choking black heart of Kingsmount; the Heroes and Sidekicks were both headquartered right on its outskirts. Though it almost never takes too long to get anywhere when you know a wizard, Bluebell and Ordan walked. A teleportation spell that takes twenty minutes to prepare is a waste of ingredients when you can walk for fifteen minutes, and achieve the same result.
Here in the Foundry were the manufactories, the smiths, the tanners, the printers, most of the artisans who required heavy machinery. Here also were the homes of most of the workers, and the stalking grounds of the most vicious businesspeople in Kingsmount: the middle-class prostitutes.
The commercial warfare that took place in the Foundry was the city’s heartbeat. Everyone in any business had to compete for money, name recognition, and the first shot at the cleaner-looking customers. Manufacturing work is dirty work, and the tailors and prostitutes in particular appreciated a freshly-scrubbed client.
Incidentally, Ordan and Bluebell began their search near one such tailor’s shop, near the site where the body had been found. The sign hung from green wooden beams, and said “Madame Sally’s Dress Empoorium”, which was Madame Sally always claimed was an intentional pun based on the needs of her frugal clients, and not (as everyone assumed) an unfortunate mistake.
It was at the Southern entrance to Forgeson’s Alley, the small dirt street where the victim had been found. Forgeson’s Alley was so named because it was the alley directly behind Forgeson and Grandson’s Textiles, a large factory in the Foundry.
Lining the alley on either side were small, obviously poor, but well-maintained homes. On the factory side, the homes were arranged apartment style, and climbed the factory wall behind them. The body had been found twenty feet down the alley from where Ordan and Bluebell started, so it wasn’t long before they found the spot.
It was, well, a spot. Of blood. They hadn’t been long in coming to investigate, but a lot can happen overnight in an alley. In this case, the body had had to be moved, because it was a narrow alley, and while the whole business was obviously a terrible shame, everyone needed to go to work. At least they’d thought to send for the coroner.
Ordan squatted near the brownish stains. “It looks like he fell, alright.”
Bluebell sniffed the air. “Didn’t the file say he was smiling when they found him?”
“That’s what made the fall suspicious.”
Beyond the blood that had soaked into the packed dirt of the street, there was little else to go on.
Bluebell sighed. “There are times when I wished I’d studied time magic. Then I remember that all of the time mages I know are mad, and nearly useless.”
It was harsh, but Ordan didn’t contradict her. The nature of time was incomprehensible to most, and so were the people that studied it.
He shrugged, “Then I suppose it’s time for the tracking spell.”
“You always complain when I make puns.”
“Your puns are horrible. Mine are glorious.”
Bluebell scowled, but said no more as she pulled out a few reagents from her pockets, and got to work. She’d spent a lot of time in a forest near her hometown, and had picked up a few tricks from a druid who lived there.
Most different systems of magic on the Accident are somewhat comparable, and even sometimes compatible. Think of Wizard magic as a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. Then think of Sorcery as a toasted chicken sandwich. You could take an ingredient or two from one sandwich, put it in the other, and it might still work.
Now consider the song-and-word-based bardic magic, and think of it as a peanut butter and jam sandwich. It’s still technically a “sandwich”, but combining it with wizard magic might be inadvisable.
Although Bluebell was an Elemental Wizard by training and inclination, this small druidic spell worked well enough for her. It was a spell designed to reveal the movements of people and animals, any living thing really, by the traces of energy they left in the ground below them.
At first, the ground lit up with a nearly blinding magical light, as the spell revealed every footprint from man and beast in the past twenty-four hours. Bluebell and Ordan both cringed, and covered their eyes as fast as if they’d seen The Old Man dancing in her underwear.
Ordan cursed, “Fuck every god, we forget that every time.”
Bluebell grunted, focusing on the spell. The light dimmed, as layers upon layers of footprints were hidden from sight. Soon, the alley was almost back to normal, with one set of human footprints, and approximately ten sets of cat footprints.
Ordan looked closely at the footprints made of light, then looked at the blood. Though he was no mage, he had been trained in the use of a few small but useful spells, and he’d been trained to use his inner sense of Sight, which allowed him to see magic being used. He made a mental note to come back another day, and see if any of the local cats had had kittens. Maybe Bluebell would like one.
“It looks like the same life signature.”
Bluebell, having recovered her composure, agreed. “Poor bastard fell right here. Had himself an exceptionally good time, then… what is it you kids say… ‘hit the dance floor’?”
Ordan groaned. “Do not say that in any of the interviews.”
Bluebell shrugged, and followed the footprints toward a thin set of rickety iron stairs. The stairs were less than a yard away, and led up the side of the factory, and provided easy — if somewhat unsafe — access to the apartments above.
“Interviews are your job, anyway. Iron stairs. All the gods’ balls on a stick.”
It’s not that iron was immune to magic. There were entire schools dedicated to magical metallurgy all throughout the world. Druidic magic was another matter. Druids and iron went together like a BLT with… well… an iron bar in it.
Bluebell glanced up at all the apartments the man could have reasonably fallen from. Her eyes clouded over, looking for signs of heat and life within them.
“No one home. We’ll have to go and talk to people.”
“Leave it to me.” Ordan said comfortingly, as he headed back out of the alley towards Madame Sally’s Dress Empoorium.
The pair entered the shop, ducking their heads, and both wincing at the pitch of the chimes that sounded when the door opened. The tall front windows let in copious amounts of natural light at the entrance, and cheap but serviceable magic-powered lamps emitted a soft glow in the back. No one made the mistake of using flame-based lights in the Foundry more than once. The air was constantly tainted by gasses that could, depending on the weather, turn flammable.
The dresses for sale were of the sturdy, practical sort favored by women who had things to do all day, none of which involved lounging on a chaise lounge in a parlor, or lounging room. These dresses were thick, but breathable, came in colors that wouldn’t show too many stains, and they had pockets.
Bluebell’s breath caught. On a simple wooden mannequin near the counter was a simple, navy blue dress, with a sign hung beside it. The sign read, “THE NEW WORK DRESS 1300, WITH 12 POCKETS, AND 4 SECRET POCKETS! Suitable for working women in all industries, hedge witches, and practical men possessed of grand self confidence.”
There was an identical garment off to the side, which only cost one-third of the price for the first dress, but it was advertised to “Hedge wizards, and other MANLY men”.
The woman whose name graced the shop came out from a back room, like a cat stalking a cheese pizza covered in cheese-stuffed mice. She was of medium height, with medium brown skin, dark brown eyes, and slightly plump. If one were to look a little closer, they’d see the toned forearms and nimble fingers required to do delicate work with reams upon reams of thick wool, and heavy fabrics.
Ordan put on his best “talking to normal people” smile, and took care to force the smile into his eyes as well.
“Madame Sally… is that correct?”
Madame Sally smiled a mostly genuine smile too, with only a hint of of commercial predation behind her eyes.
“That’s me, Young One.” she said, using a title reserved for those who were younger than oneself, those who were the same age, and occasionally for people who’d lived past the age of one-hundred. Alright, they used it for everyone.
“A Companion, are you?” She asked, pointing at the insignia on his leather armor.
“Indeed. I’m Ordan St. Catar, and this is my partner…“
Ordan looked to his right; Bluebell was still staring longingly at the dress. She might have been a noble, once, but she adored a good, practical working dress. Ordan gave her a small nudge.
She glanced back at him, then at Madame Sally. Her face, and likely her mind, was blank. Ordan gave her another, harder nudge.
“Oh right,” said Bluebell, “I’m Bluebell.”
Then she immediately returned to staring at the dress, presumably calculating just how many spell ingredients she could stash in it before they became difficult to access at a moment’s notice.
Madame Sally smiled indulgently. “A Worker of Magic, eh? I’ll not complain. Had one in last month, one of the nearly-naked types. Wanted me to make him a diamond-studded loin cloth. Nearly pitched a fit when I told him I don’t work with diamonds, or loin cloths.”
Ordan’s eyes widened a little, “I might know who you’re talking about. He didn’t do any damage, did he?”
“Thank all the gods, no. His Companion stepped in.”
Ordan relaxed a little, and shook his head. “Diamond-studded loin cloth.”
“It’s not that I wouldn’t have liked to try, mind you.” said Madame Sally. “I’ve always wanted to try working with diamonds, and that man had every right to be almost naked. The fitting could have been fun!”
She winked, and grinned.
“But…” she continued, “well… my neighbors are all good enough people, you know. Most in the Foundry are. But why tempt them, or fate, by leaving diamonds lying around in a tailor shop?”
Ordan returned her grin, then sobered. “Your neighbors are, in a way, why we’re here. We’re looking for whatever killed the man who was found in Forgeson’s Alley.”
Her grin fell. “You don’t think they… that any of them would…”
“No, no! Whatever killed the man wasn’t human.”
She looked somewhat relieved, but not entirely at ease. “Well there’s that, I guess. I knew him, you know?”
“Mr. Aglat?”
“Yes. Dumb-Ag, we called him. On account of him being an idiot.”
Ordan raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, we all loved him.” she clarified, “Honest man, kind soul, big heart, but he wasn’t very bright. His mother once asked if he thought she looked old, and…”
Ordan cringed. “He said yes.”
Madame Sally nodded. “Too honest for his own good.”
“Do you know who lives up above the spot where he was found? Who he might have been seeing? We have reason to believe his attacker may have been a Succubus.”
She shuddered. “I’m sure I don’t know anyone like that. I mean, most of them never kill anybody, right? I don’t have a problem with them. But uhhh… well women aren’t my cup of tea, Young One. I don’t know if I like horns, either.”
Ordan could have done without quite that much information, but Madame Sally was clearly nervous. He put on his most soothing tone of voice. “I understand, Madame. I’m convinced that we’ll have this all sorted out shortly. Thank you for your time.”
“I want the Work Dress 1300.” said Bluebell, abruptly.
Madame Sally brightened up. “Of course! It’s a little expensive, but I think you’ll agree it’s…”
Bluebell held up a hand. “I have money. Give me the dress. For money. Let’s not make a production of this.”
Ordan nudged her hard enough to make her wince.
“I’m sorry. That was rude, apparently. I mean, if you’ll please just package it up, I’m ready to buy it now.” she said through gritted teeth.
Madame Sally’s smile never wavered as she said, “No worries, my Lady. What color would you prefer?”
“Dark grey. Same as I’m wearing now, if you have it.”
With the transaction complete, Ordan gave Madame Sally a sheepish grin, and a silent apology as they walked back out into the glaring sunlight.
The afternoon turned to evening, and every interview with the locals went pretty much the same way as their interview with Madame Sally had. Everyone knew poor Mr. Aglat, and he was such a nice man, but no one truly knew who was living up there in any of those particular apartments. Nuh-uh. No-Siree, and no Ma’am. No self respecting upright citizen would ever know what went on in that particular part of Forgeson’s Alley.
Ordan and Bluebell had considered waiting for everyone to come home, and knocking on doors, but quickly discarded that option. If they didn’t knock on the right door on the first try, the Succubus would know they were coming. Succubi had an irritating talent for illusion magic that could fool most people who were trained in the use of the Sight, and were dangerous in other ways besides.
And the last time Ordan had recommended trying to use Bluebell’s “woman’s intuition” to solve a case, Bluebell made her disgust clear by knocking him on his ass. He was young, and he was learning; in particular, he was learning not to believe things his mother told him.
“She always knew when you were sneaking out because she used to do it, too.” Bluebell had said, shaking her head in wonder. “Woman’s intuition. I should be so lucky.”
That left them with two options: find someone willing to talk, or use live bait. Ordan—the prospective bait—was doing his level best to find someone willing to brag about their sexual escapades, or failing that, someone who was willing to be moderately helpful. It’s not that the citizens of Kingsmount were, on the whole, prudes. Far from it.
But where the ladies, gentlemen, and assorted others of the night were concerned, there was a code of silence. If anyone talked, then everyone would talk. If everyone would talk, nearly all the men in the Foundry, and quite a few of the women, would find themselves quite embarrassed.
And the less said about the married patrons of the prostitutes, the better. Some spouses would be understanding (some might even be sheepish, having engaged the same services), while others would be murderous, and no one wanted to find out which their own spouse might be.
More than a few of the women, men, and others who worked by the light of the stars and magical lamps were of the Succubus/Incubus variety. Most weren’t stupid enough to kill anyone, but some were. And others were simply young, with little control over their abilities. Even if this wasn’t a murder, at least one authority or another needed to know. Steps needed to be taken to ensure that it didn’t happen again, at least not by the same hand.
Succubi were, according to the the City Contracts (as the local laws were known) technically classified as Monsters. Though they were mostly tolerated, that could change at any time.
The duo stopped to rest on a street corner four blocks away from Forgeson’s Alley. They both leaned against the wall of a candlestick maker’s establishment, breathing in the scent of the chemicals used to polish bronze, and taking advantage of the shade.
“We should have used the truth amulet.” Bluebell said, annoyed.
Bluebell was no good at mind magic; most heroes weren’t. To make investigations simpler, every Companion carried an amulet inscribed with a truth spell. Place it on an offending liar, and the lies would stop. Unfortunately, spells designed to compel the mind to speak truth had… unfortunate side effects.
“You know we’re not supposed not use it on humans, if we don’t have to.” Ordan reminded her.
Truth spells had a habit of hitting human minds harder than most other forms of mind control. In most people, there is a deeply-hidden desire to speak truth, and only truth, but that’s not necessarily good for society as a whole. In fact, the careers of more than one lawyer had been utterly ruined when the spells refused to wear off for weeks.
“It’d just be bloody easier if people would just talk.” griped Bluebell. “Everyone sees prostitutes, near enough. If they’d just be honest…”
“And what are the chances of that?” Ordan sighed.
“Right. But if they were…”
Ordan glanced over at his partner. She was his assigned Hero, first, and his friend second. And somewhere far down the list of things she most definitely was, she was most definitely a reasonably attractive woman, especially considering her three hundred years.
“Wait.. you said everyone?”
She grunted, “Near enough.”
Ordan thought better of asking any more questions, but Bluebell was frustrated, and when she was frustrated, she talked. This usually made things worse, as it did now.
“There’s this nice young man. Incubus, really. It’s hard to find a man who can keep up, but will just leave after a good…”
“I know enough! More than enough!” interrupted Ordan, putting up his hands palms out in surrender.
“Prude.”
“We work together. Consider it a good thing.”
“True, I suppose.” Bluebell grunted again.
Ordan began to relax. He wasn’t a prude, as such, but the woman was beyond old enough to be his grandmother. He was… aware… that she was very old but not at all dead, and that was more than enough for him. He did not need or want the details.
His moment of relaxation was short lived, however, as he heard a gravelly voice say, “I could stand to hear a lot more!”
The stench of cheap booze wafted toward him from around the corner. Moments after, an older man came following after the smell, which always seemed to stay one step ahead of him. He leaned against the wall beside Ordan, who was now sandwiched between the old man and Bluebell.
Ordan nearly choked on the smell of potato-based spirits as the man leaned forward to look over at Bluebell, and spoke, “I’d be happy enough to love and leave, if that’s what you’re into.”
Ordan prepared to lecture the man on the finer points public behavior, and enforce his views with a good shaking if necessary, but Bluebell interrupted.
“Not interested.”
The old man shrugged. “Alright then. If it’s paid company you want, there’s good enough cunt in Forgesons’s Alley. Some good cock too, so I hear.”
He shrugged again.
“Not really my area of expertise. Only cock I like is the one I’m attached to. Even then… we have our bad days.” he said, looking down sorrowfully.
Ordan’s heartbeat slowed once more. This man was… indecorous to say the least, and very drunk, but he wasn’t going to be an actual problem. He’d made his offer, he’d taken rejection well, and he had neither the inclination nor the energy to pursue things any further. The man might need a lesson in manners, but shaking him around might be overkill.
Once he began to think straight again, Ordan asked, “Forgeson’s Alley? You mean the apartments a short way in? Above where Mr. Aglat was found?”
Ordan did not ask the old man’s name. He was fairly sure he didn’t want to get to know the old drunk any more than he had to.
“That’s the place. Guess we might pass in the street, and very carefully forget we ever saw each other, eh?”, the old man laughed, while giving Ordan a light elbow in the ribs.
Ordan retained his composure this time, “It’s just business.”
The man grinned evilly, “All they do there is business, Son. Important business, all night long. A… a whatchamacallit… a community service, really. A community fucking service.”
Ordan gave a wan smile in return.
“This evening, Sir, you might consider staying away.” He showed his Society of Stalwart Companions insignia to the old man, and continued, “It’s our kind of business this time.”
“Oooh!” the man exclaimed. He leaned over to look at Bluebell again, and said, “That’d make you the big Hero! Going to Hero your way through every whore in Forgeson’s, while he uh… kicks sides?”
Bluebell sniffed, “I believe they prefer to call it ‘sidekicking’, so he’ll ‘sidekick’ his way through this Succubus.”
The old man’s grin faltered. “Oh. Ooooh. Succubus. I believe I will go home, then. A good whore is one thing, but I don’t know if I’d survive a Succubus at my time of life. Not even the friendly kind.”
Ordan cut in, “That’s not quite how it works, but you might want to go home anyway. Bluebell, shall we?”
Bluebell looked at the sky; it was getting dark, and everyone was coming home. She nodded.
“Lose the armor, dump some spirits on yourself. We’re on to plan B; B for Bait.”
“Stop. Just don’t.”
It was dark now, and Ordan stumbled his way through the shadows, smelling of the local tavern. He hadn’t actually had anything to drink beyond swishing some spirits around in his mouth, but the stench from his clothing was palpable.
As Bluebell had suggested, his armor was packed away, though he did hold on to a small satchel of useful items that might come in handy later. Succubi were subtle, and he would not be the one to strike the final blow, should that be necessary, but it did well to be prepared.
The first and usually final blow was what Heroes were for; they had the raw power necessary to take any monster head on. With that power came great deficiencies, usually in the realm of personality and social skills. Others were just… less intelligent than average, or extremely old and forgetful, and on rare occasions, incredibly weak until their powers were activated.
Stalwart Companions, more informally known as sidekicks, handled speaking to the public, watched their Heroes’ backs, and made sure the Heroes took any prescribed medications. For Heroes who tended to meet their problems forehead-on, Companions would often do the intellectual heavy lifting.
And then, sometimes they had to be bait. Ordan was a fast runner, so it was common enough for him to lead monsters on a merry chase, culminating with a mad dash to safety, leading the unsuspecting monster into a wall of flame, or an ice spike through the chest. This, however, required a somewhat subtler approach, for given values of “subtle”.
He would wander over to the apartments that housed the local prostitutes, and make his way up the stairs, smelling young, drunk, and virile. He would ignore all calls for his attention, until he ran into the Succubus.
He didn’t have to figure out who she was, as she would not allow herself to be ignored. They never did.
The alley was narrow indeed, but not dark. Almost every window had at least a little bit of light in it. The apartments he was heading for shined the brightest, however.
They had to advertise somehow.
Ordan played his drunken role with some exaggeration. While most of these working women and men would deny entry to anyone that was too drunk, some didn’t mind if “customers” slept off their stupor inside. They’d charge full price anyway.
None of that would matter with a Succubus, however. Very drunken men were easy enough to manipulate, and a little magic could wake any man from his daze, so to speak, only to put him into another.
Ordan stopped, rested his hand on the rickety rail of the iron staircase, and swayed as he looked up. The railing swayed with him.
Bluebell was close by, standing in the shadows. She was very good at going unnoticed, when she wanted to. In her dark grey work dress, she blended into the walls and shadows. She could have used a spell to make herself invisible, but the unfriendly glare on her face had much the same effect on most people, even at night. When she was working, she often adopted the stance of a predator at rest, and most of the other human predators knew to stay far away.
Ordan shifted a quick glance her way, and started climbing. He went at a slow pace, maintaining the illusion of inebriation. This also gave him the time to gawk and leer at the ladies and gentlemen who came to their windows, most of whom leered right back. Such a young and fit man, apparently possessed of money, was a delicacy.
But he didn’t linger for long. He smiled, cracked a few off-color jokes as best he could without offending himself, and kept moving up the stairs. At what might have been the fourth “floor”, the plan fell into place.
The first thing he noticed was the scent. A Succubus could make you perceive what your mind most desired at any time, and it was happening to him now. This… this was the smell of breakfast. More specifically, this was the smell of bacon.
[Author’s Note: I should explain here that there are only four constants that hold the universe together: the loose set of guidelines collectively known as physics, math, bacon, and hope. Mostly, people are hoping for more bacon. This is known as The Breakfast Theory of Life, and it’s the only theory of life worth knowing.
An important corollary is this: the ideal number of bacon strips in a breakfast is forty-two.]
Then he saw Her.
Many of the working ladies and gentlemen of Forgeson’s Alley were attractive enough in their own right, but She, for it was most certainly the Succubus they had searched for, was an un-Accidental beauty. She was average, in some respects: medium height, dark hair, brown eyes. But those eyes were large, and seemed like portals to a world of lust.
Her figure was flawless. He could tell from outside her window that her breasts were large, yet pert. Her lips were a deep red, and full without looking inflated. Her neck begged for kisses; her hips practically cried out for someone to fill her with seed, and damn the child support.
She didn’t need to speak, so she only smiled. His eyes glazed over as his mind was overwhelmed with a burning, desperate ache. This, some small part of his mind knew, was magical, and all that was magical came with risks. He fought the feelings of overwhelming lust and worship for a second or two, but soon gave in. He was not equipped to fight this battle directly, and so he had to do what he always did, something that often caused some measure of regret:
He had to trust Bluebell to deal with the problem.
He walked to Her door, and She opened it immediately, though slowly. As She revealed more of herself in the doorway, She radiated pure sensuality in a way that seemed entirely unnatural… because it was.
“Hello.” She said simply, imbuing that one word with the raw lust of a thousand pigs having their ten-minute orgasms. Her voice wasn’t quite low, but it was husky, and Ordan nearly left a damp spot on his pants then and there.
She knew exactly what effect she was having on him, and her smile grew even wider.
“Come in.” She said, in a soft tone that nevertheless hit Ordan’s ears like a command.
She turned, leaving the door open, and he followed her, closing the door behind him.
Bluebell watched from down below. She saw Ordan’s eyes glaze over, as he gave up all pretense of being drunk, and almost glided through the Succubus’ apartment door in a trance. That would be Her, alright. However, the Wizard saw no reason to hurry.
Being a Succubus wasn’t, in practical terms, a crime. Attracting potential customers with a little magic wasn’t precisely a crime either, though the practice certainly was in a grey area. As long as a Succubus didn’t actually kill anyone, or seduce anyone that wasn’t already looking for intimate company, well that was just their own damned business, wasn’t it?
Prostitutes without magic were often peeved by the loss of the better-looking and wealthier customers, but life was never fair.
What was odd, was that a Succubus with that sort of talent would be working in the Foundry at all. It was like having the palace chef cook street meats; why would anyone bother? Most important, though, was finding out whether the Succubus had actually killed Mr. Aglat. He’d clearly been with Her in the same way Bluebell’s uncle had liked to “be with” the better-looking sheep in his vast flocks, but that didn’t mean She’d killed the poor man.
Her uncle’s favorite sheep had died peacefully, of old age, and they’d certainly earned their rest. Bluebell figured that Succubi saw humans in much the same way, and she was mostly right. She had trouble understanding people, and the lies they told themselves and everyone else to make society run. Monsters were simpler, and truly easier to get along with.
Besides, if they got on her nerves, she could legally kill almost any monster she wanted without repercussions.
As she thought over her current situation, she pulled out a cigar. She paused, cast a quick incantation that purified the air in her immediate vicinity, and lit the cigar. The match flared, the smoke began to rise, and she breathed the flavors in deep. Then, overwhelming even the smell of the smoke, there came a familiar stench.
“Aren’t you going to help him?” asked the old drunk they’d met earlier.
She glanced at him, and kept smoking.
“Well?” the old man continued, “Aren’t you? He’s in there, you know.”
Bluebell sighed, and resigned herself to making conversation as she smoked.
“I know. He’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m keeping tabs on him. Wizard.”
He thought for a moment. “You? You’re a wizard?”
She nodded.
“Ah. But you know who She is, so why wait?”
“I need a break. Besides, Ordan is just so…” she made a vague motion with her hand.
“Uptight? Anal? Has a monument-sized wooden sandal up his ass?”
Bluebell smiled, but barely, “His parents certainly raised him well. It’s a pity. I have fun. Mostly with my books, but I have fun. He almost never does.”
The old drunk chuckled. “I suspect he won‘t thank you much for this ‘fun’.’”
“Again, he almost never does.” she said, blowing out more smoke.
Ordan later attempted to describe the interior of the apartment for his report. Normally, he was quite thorough about these things, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember much besides Her.
As the door closed behind Ordan, the Succubus turned, allowing her loose-fitting dress to fall as she walked toward the plain, but sturdily-built bed. Her luscious ass, for hardly any other noun could describe its magnificence, was as impressive as the rest of her: round, firm, ample, delicious.
“Shall we begin? I’m ready.”
She looked back at him, below the belt. “And so are you.”
It was true. Ordan’s cock was erect enough to bring back some of his more embarrassing teenage memories. She moved over to the bed, and sat on it, beckoning to him.
“Why are you still in those clothes?”
Enthralled as he was, Ordan was in his heart, a gentleman. There was an order to these things, a procedure.
“We… we… haven’t discussed p… payment.” he managed to stammer out. “Or boundaries. Or safe words. And what’s your name?”
For a moment, She was stunned. Then she laughed, delightedly, for nearly half a minute. She wheezed a little, trying to catch her breath.
“Oh, you adorable boy! Let’s see… your clothes are well-made, if a little stained. I’m sure you can afford me. You can do anything you like that doesn’t draw blood, my safe word is ‘harder’ (you won’t need one), and my name is Tanie. Will that do?”
Almost before she’d finished, he was removing his satchel, shoes, and shirt, and dropping his pants like he’d never need them again. He stood before her with a raging erection, shivering with raw desire. She smiled up at him, cooing softly and lifting her hands to his body. A career of walking, running, and fighting had left him fit, and she began to trace her fingers over his abdominal muscles.
And that’s when his whole body jerked back. It was sudden, almost violent, and the Succubus was startled.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, with an air of mild concern.
“I’m… I’m… ticklish.”
“Oh.” she said, thinking quickly, “ Is that something you’re into, or…?”
“No. No, I hate it. It’s like torture.” he said, without even a trace of a stammer this time.
She smiled again. “That’s alright. We have all night to discover what you like, what excites you. Well, an hour or so, at least. A girl’s gotta eat.”
At that last remark, Ordan’s lizard brain screamed a little. Tanie stood up from the bed and moved in close.
“It’s alright.” she said, as she leaned in to kiss his lips lightly.
That didn’t seem to provoke a reaction. She put her hands on his shoulders, and darted out her tongue and licked his well-defined jawline, and he jerked back again. This time, he ended up on his own fairly well-defined ass, staring up at Tanie. His legs were splayed, as his erection pointed straight at her.
Tanie covered her mouth, and snorted. “Alright, we’re going to have to be even more careful.”
She sat back down on the bed, and beckoned him once more, “Come here.”
Tanie, for her part, was not happy with how her last couple of days had gone. First, there’d been poor Dumb-Ag, the cursed idiot. She hadn’t meant for that to happen, but it had, and now here she was. Apparently someone from the Guilds was investigating the death, but she still needed to earn a living.
Then there was this poor boy. He was neither the prettiest nor the most masculine man she’d ever had, but he was charming in his own way. He’d resisted the pull of her magic through sheer will, all to display something that might have been courtesy, if he hadn’t been driven half-mad at the time. It really was adorable; he was like a puppy that wasn’t quite sure if he deserved the bone he was being offered.
The immediate problem, of course, was his tendency to jerk away whenever she touched him. His sheer panic at being tickled was strong enough to temporarily disrupt her hold on his mind, even if only for a split second at a time.
At least he hadn’t managed to accidentally lie on her hair just when she was trying to get out of bed. She hated that with a passion.
But she was ready, now. She’d focus on the only part of a man that was almost never ticklish, namely the boy’s painfully throbbing cock. He clearly needed this as much as she did, if not more.
As he came toward her, she opened her mouth invitingly. Needing little encouragement, her desperate client slowly pushed the head of his cock past her lips, and to her waiting tongue. The shaft was warm, a little salty with recent sweat, but not unpleasant. She was grateful for his apparent sense of hygiene, and further impressed with his restraint. Many a more experienced man would have been ramming his cock desperately towards her throat by now.
She let out a low moan, for the boy’s benefit, and slowly began to move her head back and forth, savoring his shivers, his guttural moans, and the lust building inside him. The energy in this boy could leave her sated for two whole days, maybe more if she was lucky. He was wound tighter than an ugly choirboy’s asshole.
Carefully, she took him further into her mouth, as she reached around behind him. She placed the flat palms of her hands on lower his back, and carefully allowed her fingers to sink into his flesh as well. As long as she kept her digits stuck together, she wouldn’t tickle him. He tensed for a brief moment, but relaxed, and allowed her to go to work on his shaft.
Her throat hummed, and her tongue swirled as she guided him in and out slowly, carefully. She began to feel even more heat rising up along the shaft, and she moved her hands down to his buttocks. In a thoughtless moment, she squeezed, splaying out her fingers as she did so.
Tanie was no stranger to a good throat-fucking, but she liked to be prepared for that sort of thing. She was not prepared for her client’s hips to suddenly buck forward, away from her hands. His cock was on the longer-end of the average, and hit the back of her mouth with a force she could not have anticipated. This was a reaction as involuntary as a heartbeat, and as unexpected as finding out that the Snow Demon wasn’t real, and her parents bought her presents every decade.
She lurched back herself, choking as she hadn’t since she’d first tasted the air of the Foundry.
Succubi and Incubi were trained from birth to control their emotions; it was a survival skill. Though she was young for a Succubus, she was experienced in all manners of pleasure, and had taken on nearly every kind of client. None had been so frustrating as this. She felt a tear begin to form, but refused to break down in front of a mindless client.
“Uuuuurrggghh.” she growled quietly, releasing the frustration as quickly as she knew how.
“Ma’am, I am so, so sorry. I had no…”
“Forget it.” she cut him off abruptly. Then, seeing the fervent regret on his face, she softened.
“I’m alright. It was my mistake.” she said, firmly but gently, as she turned around on the edge of the bed. “I usually like to be in control, but we’d best get on with this. You just bring that delicious cock of yours over here and fuck me. I won’t touch you.”
She placed herself on all fours, and lowered her head toward the mattress. Presented with her delectable, round, and slightly swaying ass, the boy couldn’t help himself.
“Yes Ma’am!” he said, as he eased his cock into her perpetually slick pussy.
He moaned, reveling in her warmth, as Tanie herself reveled in his youthful passion, which was a source of magic on its own. He began slowly, but steadily increased his speed, and the strength of his thrusts. He groaned, and he grunted, beginning to sweat with the exertion of the act, mesmerized by the movement of her flesh as he moved back and forth.
Tanie found herself without much to do at this point. It wasn’t that she wasn’t enjoying herself, but when you’re a Succubus, even a young one, doggy-style becomes somewhat pedestrian over the centuries. To pass the time, she decided to try something she usually avoided: She engaged her client in light conversation.
“That’s good.” she purred. “You’re clearly no virgin. How… how in the Mother’s name did you manage to lose your virginity, anyway? What with your skin being so sensitive?”
The boy was clearly preoccupied with moving in and out of her cunt, but he managed to managed to reply.
“With considerable difficulty.”
She laughed, throatily.
“That makes sense, I suppose. Is there any part of your body, besides your scrumptious cock, where you aren’t ticklish?”
“Not… really.” he said between pants. He was going full steam ahead, now.
“Why do you think… they picked me… for this job?” he continued, his mind addled by sorcery and sex.
Ordan was in an afterlife, one of the good ones, for all he knew. There was nothing but intense, mindless pleasure, and the heat was spreading down his shaft again. He knew he was having a conversation of some kind, but for the life of him, he had no idea what they were talking about.
Apparently, it was something decidedly not-good.
In one horrific instant, the heat was gone, the flesh was gone, and the mind-numbing lust was gone. It was Tanie’s turn to violently jerk forward, as she sprang up from her position, jumping toward the wall on the other side of the bed. She kicked off from the wall mid-jump, spinning her self back toward Ordan with a growl. She reached for him, bearing him to the ground with all the rage of a man who’s just realized he’s only special to his mother.
His head hit the floor with a resounding crack, as she landed on top of him. She punched him hard in the gut, then moved forward, pinning his outstretched arms beneath her knees. She grabbed his throat with her left hand, and slapped him hard with her right.
“Who do you work for?! Tell me now, and I might allow you to live.” she hissed.
Ordan struggled to breathe. He wondered, not for the first time, why people always demanded answers after they started choking him. It was impractical and worse, it was unprofessional. Ask questions, then torture them, then ask more questions. That’s how it was supposed to work.
He tried to speak, but she would not relent. Darkness faded in at the edge of his vision.
“Where the ever loving fuckstick cunt shit eating hell is Bluebell?” he thought.
Bluebell and the old drunk were in the middle of a spirited debate regarding existential matters.
“You either like peanut butter and banana, or peanut butter and jam. The textures are far too different for anyone reasonable to like both!”
“I like dick and pussy, both. The textures are very different. Why can’t I like both kinds of sandwiches?” Bluebell countered.
“You would.” the man grinned slyly, “But sandwiches are a whole different subject.”
“Different how?”
“Well there’s genitalia… and then there’s sandwiches.”
Bluebell sighed in frustration. “The two topics are just similar enough to use the same logical argument. Why on the Accident can’t I like two different things? They both have peanut butter! And so do genitalia, sometimes.”
The man stopped, and swayed in thought.
“I’ve never tried that.” he admitted. “Is it any good?”
Bluebell waggled her hand to indicate that putting peanut butter on genitalia was a mediocre experience at best.
“It’s mostly messy. Put on too much, and you just have a mouth full of sticky peanut butter. I say it’s not worth it.”
“You know…” he said, changing the subject, “your partner has been in there for some time.”
“Yes.” Bluebell replied, unconcerned.
“Shouldn’t you…”
The drunk old man was cut off by a distinctly thud-like sound, though it was muffled by four stories of distance. Had they been inside an actual building full of apartments, they might never have heard it.
“Goodbye.” Bluebell said curtly, as she withdrew a green powder, and spoke one of the thousands of words of power she had tucked away in her mind.
This was a spell she always kept prepared, just in case. The magical wind roared in her ears, and the skirt of her dressed wrapped itself tightly around her legs (for reasons of modesty and practicality) as she began to rise through the air. Skipping the staircase, she was on the fourth level of apartments in seconds, and she came to rest as her skirt loosened itself.
Another word of power knocked open the door to the Succubus’ apartment. Ordan was in trouble, and Bluebell intended to draw the monster’s attention. It worked.
Just inside the door, Ordan lay on the floor naked as an old man in a gymnasium’s changing room, with the Succubus’ hand around his neck. Her other hand was raised, poised to strike again, but the monster was staring straight through the open doorway, and she seemed frozen in time. Bluebell stood there, with fire in her eyes, lightning crackling around her ears and hair, and a savage grin on her face. That grin had been known to make the undead rethink their life choices, and Tanie was not immune.
“Stand.” said Bluebell calmly, in a tone that would suffer no disobedience. Still, Tanie hesitated.
“Stand, or I’ll kill you now, and my Companion will just have to take his chances.”
The hand on Ordan’s throat began to release slowly, and he croaked, “You left me alone with Her. Again. You bitch.”
The Succubus stood slowly, hands lowered, but out to her sides, palms facing forward.
“I wasn’t… I wasn’t going to kill him.”
“Like you didn’t kill Mr. Aglat.” Bluebell sneered.
Tanie panicked. “I didn’t! I swear on the Mother…”
She didn’t get a chance to finish, as a blast of freezing cold power swept her off her feet, and slammed her into the back wall of the apartment. It wasn’t an ice spike, but an enveloping layer of ice that wrapped around Tanie, and held her up against the wall. The light of the magic lamps glistened off the surface of the ice, and the Succubus sagged in defeat.
“Amulet.” Bluebell ordered.
Ordan considered telling her to get it herself, but thought better of speaking at the moment. He began to rise, one hand on his burning throat. His mind was clear now, and he knew he should be very, very angry, but he was far too exhausted to manage more than irritation. He walked over to his pants, and put them on first, attempting to recover some shred of his dignity.
Then he recovered his satchel, withdrew the amulet, and carried it over to the imprisoned Succubus. This was his first chance to see her clearly, with no illusions in the way. Her skin was still mostly brown, but it also had had a bluish tinge, though that could have perhaps been caused by the ice imprisoning her. She had short, almost adorable horns sticking up from her forehead, but her face looked mostly the same as before. Her figure wasn’t far off from what her illusion had portrayed either, as far as he could tell.
“Why mess with perfection? The gods know it worked on me.” he thought wryly.
He made these observations almost dispassionately now. With the magic gone, and his body in considerable pain, he had immense clarity. He didn’t even hesitate as he tossed the amulet’s chain over Tanie’s head and neck, and took a few steps back.
The amulet itself was unassuming, built to last, and not to dazzle. It was a simple circle of hardened steel, with the various runes and symbols required for the spell etched into it. When the world inevitably ended in magical radiation and fire, mutated rats would find these amulets, and accidentally tell their rat friends what they truly thought of the rat ladies they were seeing. It would be chaos.
In the present, the effect was no less dramatic. Tanie tensed, and slowly looked up. Her brown eyes were glowing with a dim white light. It was her turn to have her mind held hostage, while Bluebell and Ordan waited a few more moments for the spell to take hold completely.
Ordan attempted to speak, but could barely croak out the words, “What’s your name? Your full name.”
Tanie didn’t respond. She wasn’t resisting the magic, she just hadn’t heard him. Ordan looked at Bluebell, ironically and stiffly bowed despite his pain, gesturing at the trapped Succubus. Bluebell momentarily looked at him in annoyance, but cleared her throat.
“Very well, I’ll do the talking. Full name?”
Tanie responded sluggishly, the words being pulled from her tongue against her will.
“Tanie, Daughter of Dareen.”
“Why did you kill Mr. Aglat?”
“I didn’t.”
Bluebell raised an eyebrow, glancing at Ordan. He shrugged.
She continued, “Why did you attack my partner?”
“He implied he was working for… someone. I hadn’t gotten that far.”
“You left me in here too fucking long.” Ordan hissed at Bluebell, his voice regaining some of its prior clarity.
Bluebell ignored him. He was always complaining about something.
“What happened to Mr. Aglat?”
Bluebell and Ordan were both surprised to see a tear roll down the Succubus cheek. Under the influence of the truth amulet, that could not be faked. She sobbed pitifully, her one tear rolling down to join the ice pinning her to the wall.
“He was just so… so stupid!” she sobbed, “So nice, but too stupid to tie his own shoelaces. Literally! They caught on the stairs outside as he tried to go down, and…”
“And no one else saw this happen?” Bluebell asked.
“It was late. He was my last for the night. Now I’ll have to move, if you don’t kill me now.”
Bluebell and Ordan left her to their misery as they moved to the far corner of the small apartment.
Ordan, calmer now, sighed, “She’s telling the truth. She can’t not tell the truth.”
Bluebell nodded. Her Sight was far more practiced and sensitive than Ordan’s. She knew the amulet was working as intended.
“We’ll leave her alone.” she said simply.
Ordan replied, “You know we can’t do that. We need to be seen to be doing something, and she’ll be safer if she gets relocated to another part of the city. We walk out of here with nothing to show, the locals will get suspicious.”
Bluebell complained, “Fine, but I’m not handling the paperwork.”
Ordan pointed at his bruised throat.
“Yes you are.”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
Tanie, Daughter of Dareen was delivered to the authorities, and the necessary reports were made. Altogether, it could have gone much worse for her, and she was given the option to relocate to another part of the city, or even some other city, if she liked.
She chose to move south, to the city built on a lake. Despite its dangers, there were tales of a place in that city called “The Pink Zone”, and she was intrigued.
Ordan was ordered to the infirmary, where a member of the Healer Corps looked him over, gave him herbs and slow-acting potions, and ordered him to bed. He stayed in the infirmary overnight for observation, and slept the peaceful, dreamless sleep of the heavily-drugged.
It was nights like this that made Ordan think that his eventual death might be a nice change of pace, though he was in no hurry.
Ordan woke to see Bluebell in a chair beside his infirmary cot, staring resolutely at the wall. She did that when she was thinking hard. They were alone in a room that had many cots side by side, separated by curtains that had not been drawn. With no one else there, there was little need for the illusion of privacy.
The white walls reflected the golden morning light, the air smelled of industrial-strength antiseptic, and Ordan breathed it all in like he’d never smelled anything so sweet. He rolled onto his back, and slowly sat up.
Bluebell took notice, “Should you be doing that?”
“No healers have come in to yell at me yet.” he smiled, “I feel fine, thanks for asking. Have you been here long?”
She had changed into the new working dress she’d bought the day before, and looked clean and refreshed.
“I stayed in the accommodations here at the Hall. I did the paperwork. I owed you that, at least.”
Ordan was relieved, and worried at the same time. He was glad he didn’t have to cramp up his hand writing down everything that had happened, but Bluebell had a habit of being meticulous and painstakingly accurate in her reports. There were details of the last night he rather hoped wouldn’t be made a matter of record.
In a rare moment of social awareness, Bluebell had anticipated this.
“I kept certain details vague. Officially, we both confronted her at once, and she moved so fast I couldn’t cast my ice trap before she tackled you.”
Ordan moved backward, sitting up against the wall, and relaxed completely.
“Well, I officially thank you for saving me anyway.”
Bluebell looked bothered.
“What is it?” asked Ordan.
“It was The Old Man, that is… she of the capital letters. She intimated to me that if I’d left you alone with the Succubus like the last time, allowed you to get hurt out of some misguided sense of charity… she’d kill me herself.”
“Ah.” said Ordan, quietly. “Well then it’s a good thing you never, ever did that.”
Bluebell nodded solemnly.
“The old man, the drunk one we met yesterday, came by the Hall this morning. He said he’d looked for us at the Hall of Heroes, but came here when he didn’t find us there.”
Ordan raised his eyebrows. “Is he that desperate to date a Hero? Does he want to die before his time?”
Bluebell smiled only a little.
“The opposite, actually. He thanked us for making his ‘favorite neighborhood’ safer, and brought gifts. He says we’ve ‘done some good in this world’. His exact words.”
She reached down into a bag, and brought out a large clay jug, Even with the stopper firmly in place, Ordan could smell the spirits.
“What is that, exactly? He smelled just like that.”
“His name is Alegand Gomes, and he owns the distillery that makes this rotgut. Seems he enjoys his own product. ”
Ordan chuckled, and winced again at the smell.
“I’m sure I can find some use for it. I do have a drain that needs unclogging. But there’s something I need to ask you.”
Bluebell looked at him quizzically.
“If you had left me in there, why would you have done that? What did you mean by a ‘misguided sense of charity’?”
She shrugged, not showing even a hint of shame.
“You needed it.”
He spluttered incredulously. “I needed to be half tickled to death, then choked by a succubus?”
“No! You’re young, you haven’t had a girl in two years. I can practically see your blue balls with my Sight.”
He reddened with both embarrassment and rage.
“That’s it! You know how I’ve been letting you slack off with your social education?”
Her eyes widened in horror.
“That ends now. I’ll be coming over to your house for a week. Every day. We will have tea, and we will make SMALL TALK. You will look out your window, then come back and tell me all about the weather, and…”
“I’ll kill you first!” she hissed.
They spent the rest of the day happily squabbling; for a precious moment in time, they left saving the city to someone else.
Notes on Succubi and Incubi:
On the world known as the Accident, Succubi and Incubi survive by absorbing the magical energies produced by living, sentient beings. They can absorb the actual life force of said beings directly, but they usually don’t bother. Those who do usually break out in a rash of pitchforks and torches.
They often take on the roles of prostitutes and courtesans because this provides them access to a steady supply of magical energy. The mere potential for life that results from intercourse carries a power all its own. So do rituals, and the act of handing over currency in exchange for sex is a ritual as old as monkeys with too many peanuts on their hands.
They can take additional power from the symbolism inherent in individual sexual acts, and the emotions of lust and passion generated by sentient minds. What’s more, the energy required to dominate the average sentient mind is minimal. Any mother can do it; magic just makes it easier.
This creates a feedback loop where the investment of energy required to survive is almost insignificant compared to the return. Succubi and Incubi who live long enough, and invest wisely, have been known to ascend to godhood.