Justin Gustainis - Those Who Fight Monsters Tales of Occult Detectives

Noel paled. “But you never did before…”

“The sacrifices were tasty. Until now.” Baruel grinned hugely. “I’m not in the mood for succubus. I think I’ll dine on magician.”

“Told you so,” I said to Noel. But he was too busy calling up some magic spell or another to pay any attention to me.

Baruel, for his part, launched himself off the bed and out of the desecrated circle, his fingernails already lengthened into claws. Noel barely got a shield of light up in time to deflect the blow. Screaming like a nun at an orgy, he let loose a magical blast that would have singed off Baruel’s hair, if he had any. The demon bellowed and slammed his fists down. Noel threw himself to the left, avoiding getting pounded into pudding. Baruel’s hands momentarily stuck in the ruins of the bedroom floor. Still screaming, Noel made a “Here, boy” motion, and a black-bladed sword appeared in his outstretched hand. He lunged at Baruel, slicing at the demon’s neck.

Don’t mind me, boys. Keep yourselves entertained as I poof away my bonds like so…

Free, I sat up and rubbed my wounded belly. With a wisp of my power, the bleeding stopped, the cut scabbed over and faded, and I was back up to full strength.

The demon and the human were tearing into each other, no holds barred. I frowned, debating whether I should help Baruel. Even though he was an Arrogant bastard, and one of Hell’s elite to boot, he was still one of my own kind. Noel, furthermore, tried to sacrifice me. I expect that sort of thing from demons, not humans.

And it would irk Baruel for the next two millennia if I helped him. Creatures of Pride didn’t do well with charity.

I aimed at the back of Noel’s head, ready to throw my magic at him, but Baruel saw me. He lobbed a bolt of power at me, and I yelped as I scampered out of the way.

“I’m coming for you next, little whore!” he roared. “I’ll destroy you for your part in this!”

Well, fuck that noise. I plopped down on the bed and let them fight it out.

A minute passed as Noel and Baruel danced — the one a high-level magician of the dark arts, the other his demonic teacher. The two struck and parried and struck and scored and struck and dodged. Blood and ichor flew. Curses rang out. I buffed my nails.

Before another minute passed, they both scored fatal blows. It took them both two more minutes to figure out they were dying. (Men, whether human or demon, could be a bit slow on the uptake.) Noel crashed to the ground, limbs quivering. Baruel sank to his knees. Dark stains pooled beneath them both.

I stretched and stood up.

By the time I picked up the black blade that had slipped from Noel’s fingers, the carpet was saturated with blood and other body fluids. I stepped carefully so that I wouldn’t slip. Balancing in four-inch heels could be such a bitch. Baruel, I noted, was halfway to decapitated.

No one likes a half-assed job. I separated the demon’s head from his neck.

Then I turned to Noel. The master magician lay dying, too far gone to mutter any anti-death spells. His body was nothing more than strips of bloody flesh.

Yum.

I sliced away the scraps of clothing that covered him from torso to thigh. With a pulse of my power, the most important part of him stood at attention. And then I straddled him there on the ground. I even took his hands and put them to my naked breasts. I thought he’d like that; clearly, he’d been a boob man.

Smiling, I gave Noel Le Noir the last ride of his life. With his final breath, he called my name … and his soul was mine.

Turns out, practitioners of the dark arts taste like chicken.

You’d think a place called Pandemonium would be chaotic. But no, the administrative level of Hell was frighteningly orderly. There was paperwork for everything … and with every additional form, you had to get back on line and wait your turn to file the new paper. And the line tended to be three years long.

I was consoling myself by humming Michael Jackson tunes when Daun popped in, grinning from ear to ear.

“Figures,” he said, shaking his head. “The only time a fifth-level succubus has ever taken out a Master of the Dark Arts, and it gets cancelled out as a Wrongful Termination of one of the elite. Babes, I don’t know whether to be impressed or bust a gut laughing.”

I sniffed. “My reputation precedes me.”

“Jezzie, it’s all over the Pit. Demons and damned alike are taking bets on whether you get everything squared away before Salvation Day.”

Terrific.

It was grossly unfair. Even though Noel had delivered the fatal blow to Baruel, my cut had been the final one — so in Hell’s book, the kill was mine. And that meant I was stuck with miles of paperwork. And if that weren’t bad enough, Lillith was furious with me. Apparently, offing one of the elite demons of Hell is something that she, as my queen, was answerable for. Oopsie. She’d already promised me a decade’s worth of torment.

And it was all because I’d done my job and hadn’t died in the process, even with her setting me up.

Not like I could complain about it. I worked for Hell. Shockingly, management tended not to be overly sympathetic.

“And,” Daun said, “I was right about the Shield Against Evil, wasn’t I?”

Fuck me with a halo.

“Don’t fret, babes. I won’t remind you that I was right. Well, not much. I’ll probably stop after a century or so.”

I sighed. “Great.”

“Did you at least keep the thing?”

“Couldn’t,” I said. “It went kablooey when Noel died.”

“Charmed items tend to do that when the charmer expires.”

“My afterlife sucks,” I said with a sigh. “I wish I could just give it all up, run away and start over.”

Chuckling, Daun stroked my cheek. “Even if you could run away, you wouldn’t. There are plenty of things worth staying in Hell for.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like the promise of sex so steamy, the Lake of Fire would be a cool dip in comparison.”

Ooh.

“Why don’t you get off line,” Daun murmured, “and come with me. I promise I’ll make you forget about your troubles for a few days.”

“Are you tempting me, sweetie?”

“Of course.”

Bless me, Daun always knows just what to say. And do.

Grinning, I took Daun’s hand and let him pull me out of line.

As for what happened next … well, let’s just say that I was a very sated succubus. Once again, Daunuan was right: I forgot all about my troubles during the five days we were together. It almost made going to the back of the line worth it. Almost.

Ah, who am I kidding? Of course it was worth it. Sinfully, delightfully worth it.

I’d just never admit that to Daunuan. He’d never let me live it down.

Jackie Kessler lives in upstate New York. She is the author of the “Hell on Earth” series, co-author (with Caitlin Kittredge) of Black and White and its upcoming sequel Shades of Gray , and, writing as Jackie Morse Kessler, the author of the upcoming young adult novel Hunger . She has a web presence at www.jackiekessler.com

The succubus Jezebel has turned her back on her Hellish past (sort of) and now lives as the human Jesse Harris, working as an exotic dancer in New York City. Note: this story takes place before Hell’s Belles.

“Piers, what a surprise. Do come in — uh, both of you.”

Having Professor Piers Knight show up unannounced on his front doorstep surprised Albert Harper. It was an unusual thing for the professor — Knight was not known to risk wasting time by dropping in on people who might not be where he presumed they should be. He liked things confirmed. He liked his routine neat. And part of his routine for some time had been visiting Albert Harper.