Private Investidemons Ch. 01

'Hello all! Thank you for clicking on this story. It's my first chapter (never mind story) posted here! Thank you to all my lovely friends for being encouraging, as well as helping to proofread and edit it before presentation to the world.

This is erotica, but don't expect pure smut or slash fiction. The amount of sexual content will vary. But to quell your concerns, there is very much going to be hot, steamy sex with monster girls. And maybe monster... boys? Anyway, onto the story!'

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Skye closed the umbrella as she ducked into the doorway of the sad-looking, barren café. The sign above the door had said Pleasant Cottage. Her first glance indicated there wasn't much pleasant about it. There being only a single place serving food had limited her options. At least it was somewhere out of the rain.

It had been a miserable few days of travel ever since crossing into Fife. She had even feared the rackety old train would hurtle from the Forth Bridge. A result of the winds. Joining the annals of history beside the Tay Bridge Disaster. Her fears didn't come to pass. It was as though the train had crossed a barrier, past some unseen boundary. From the mere grim greyness across the Forth to the pounding, unrelenting rain of Fife. Not on a single of her previous visits had she seen such.

The rain was unnatural, there were no two ways about it. The work of something paranormal or occult. A witch, sorcerer or even a druid, or what concerned her, something worse. Too many unknowns.

The locals had failed to notice, which made it worse. The conductor of the train she stopped to ask didn't have an answer. Beyond a mere comment that the weather was, in his own words, "shite." She agreed.

The door clunked against the bell as she stepped in, alerting the customers and staff alike to her entry. She was a stranger and hoped they wouldn't notice or mind. Drawing attention to herself was the last thing she wanted.

Skye paused as she deserted her umbrella by the door, assessing the occupants. Two middle-aged workmen complete with boiler suits. With their dirty appearance one only saw on tradesmen. An elderly couple occupied a booth by the window, the two of them over eighty by Skye's best estimate, cute almost in a way. She watched for a moment longer as the elderly woman reached over the table to brush crumbs off her husband's shirt, scolding him for making a mess. She hoped they wouldn't have to learn of the danger that lurked so close, preying upon the men.

Tracking her quarry had led to the village and the surrounding area. An old ruin less than five miles away was of particular interest. Especially as she'd gathered the area was used for hunting. The legality of such was up in the air, which likely made it easier for what she was tracking. More chance for victims' loved ones or friends to not be in the know about their whereabouts. Or worse, they wouldn't be missed. She was hunting the hunter, a difficult task. Six missing men concerned Syke because she knew it wouldn't end with only six.

"Take a seat anywhere, love." The voice drew Skye's attention to the waitress. She was an ageing woman whose heavy makeup did little to conceal the tiresome years beneath. She'd seen the type often enough on her travels. A career waitress. Most likely she'd spent her entire life working in Pleasant Cottage. It was a dreary, destitute place, and the woman with her fake smile was the culmination of it.

Skye returned the smile, giving a nod. "I'll give ya a minute to figure out what you want, love. Tea?" There was a high-pitched, forced chirp to the voice that grated at Skye, because of how forced it was. The voice of customer service, that was what Sam had called it. Sam... Skye grit her teeth, forcing the thought from her mind before tears could form, giving a nod in reply. She didn't usually drink tea, but it was better than nothing and at the very least, warming.

The previous eleven hours stalking through dark, soaked and in places flooded underbrush had done little to lift her spirits. Especially as she was yet to find a single solid lead that would put her one step closer to tracking the hunter. It would avoid her, that much she knew. They preyed only on men. Sam would have come in handy; he hadn't minded playing bait. But he was gone. Not dead. That she refused to acknowledge. Not without a body.

Skye once more tried to push the thoughts of her lost lover from her head. She opted for the booth furthest from the door and the other occupants. She seated herself, noting the worn, faded nature of the seats.

The place hadn't seen a lick of paint in decades, never mind anything more substantial. Most of the villagers were working class and for them, it was unlikely to change anytime soon.

She opted for the discarded paper on the table first before the menu. High Court Rules Strike Unlawful. The miners had been striking for months. Sitting Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher was trying to push for future colliery closures. The miners tried to use the only power available to them to prevent it, striking. Britain still needed coal.

Skye gave the slightest sigh. If only they knew. Their hearts were in the right place. The Reds had called her The Iron Lady. To the mine workers and their families, she was ruining their lives and taking their jobs. Most of them had only ever known the mines. In a village like the one she found herself in, it wasn't uncommon for more than half the males of age to be employed at the local pit.

Skye dumped the paper back onto the table, the front page down. Thatcher couldn't tell them the truth, and more would suffer because of it. Unaffected by the strikes, she had her own reasons to dislike Thatcher. The woman was the devil. Well, perhaps not quite. But not far from it. The demon Thor'goth all but confirmed it before she had banished him. A deal had been struck, between someone, or something, and Thatcher. She didn't know what, but finding out was on her list. Although the idea of becoming a second Guy Fawkes didn't appeal to her.

The town she'd passed through only a day prior was the closest to the local mine. The strikers there had been strong in both number and spirit, even in the face of the rain. A local in the greasy spoon in that town had provided Skye with a commentary on the matter. There were no scabs among their people, that much she assured Skye.

Were the truth an option, the matter would be far simpler. She had considered it. Simply telling the woman there and then. More than likely the woman would have laughed and agreed. How close, yet how ignorant someone could be. The people of Scotland had a deep-seated dislike for the strong-willed woman running their government. Their hate was misdirected. Whatever deal had been made was the real problem.

The miners had dug too deep. It was a tale as old as time. Not only in the towns and the villages of the east coast of Scotland where she found herself. But up and down the country as a whole, in the Highlands, the Welsh countryside, and even in the Midlands. The pits had to be shut, at least temporarily, until matters subsided. She could only hazard a guess towards what they had stumbled upon and hoped it hadn't been the same as Texas.

Skye recalled the family she'd paid a visit to two weeks prior, the father in jail for assaulting his own son for being a strike-breaking scab. It was a real shame, and she could only imagine the lasting impact it might have. Families were split already. Those standing by the strike action on one side. Those keeling and submitting to the desire to continue to provide for their families on the other.

"You alright, hon?" Skye blinked, her knuckles were white and her fingers clenched against the edge of the table, threatening to crumble the cheap, aged wood. She could see the waitress appraising her, stopping upon the messy ink on the backs of her hands. Although she appeared punk, it wasn't quite the reality. Skye could only imagine how she looked, avoiding seeing her reflection had become a habit. She knew she looked tired; Wynn reminded her often enough. In truth, she was tired.

Skye nodded, trying to find her voice. Too often these days she found herself lost in her thoughts.

The ink was an unfortunate necessity, one that drew attention to herself. It was a method she had learned from a Native American shaman. Some opted for bottles, or similar containers, or other things more esoteric. It was possible to trap a demon in almost any object with the right know-how. Yet things were breakable. This way she could keep them close and monitored at all times.

Years had passed since first learning of the method. After severing a demon's existing anchor to the mortal plane, she was able to capture the very essence of their existence. From there it was a simple ritual to bind that essence to her own flesh. The exact form and makeup had been different for the shaman. For her, they took the form of punk, metal, or generally darker tattoos. She felt the shaman and his beautiful beasts had gotten the longer straw.

The years of constant travel had left her arms, chest and back almost completely covered. What had started with a small rabbit on her hip was now a mess of constantly shifting skulls, skeletons, and worse. The non-earthly nature of the tattoos meant they had the habit to shift, move, or change. Something had to hide. That wasn't a question she cared to attempt to explain to a mundane mortal.

"TELL 'ER YOU WAN 'ER. TELL 'ER YOU GUNNA EAT 'ER." The voice was a distant scream, one she had learned to repress and ignore, thankful it was localised to the inside of her head and not the cafe as a whole. The demons being so close to her came with the upside of being monitored, and unable to escape. As well as no risk of their vessel being broken. But, came with the downside of them being part of her. Still, some people had it worse. She had seen real demonic possession first-hand.

Skye ducked her hands beneath the table, trying to hide the ink from visible view before it threatened to shift. She almost only wore long sleeves and high collars.

The distraction had left her little time to appraise the menu. She didn't care to draw attention to herself any further by asking... Wendy, she took note of the woman's name by the yellowed nametag, to return.

"Full breakfast. Eggs runny. Toast a little on the burnt side, please?" Her voice was quieter and raspier than she liked. It was a side-effect of her continued travels, and lack of rest. Playing host to a horde of demons didn't help either.

Wendy nodded as she scribbled the order, pausing for a moment. "Big meal for you, hon. Eating alone?"

"My husband passed." Skye dipped her head as she spoke the words, the almost truth. It was an easy way to divert attention and ensure she'd be left alone. A card she played too often these days. Sam hadn't quite been her husband, but likely would have been in time. If he were still alive, perhaps one day he still could be. That was a distant, broken dream.

"I'm sorry..." Wendy gave pause once more, clearly looking for the words to console the young girl before her. Unable to find them she merely nodded, turning to leave.

Thankful to be alone once more, Skye shifted back in the booth, lifting her right hand from below the table. The three flaming, intertwined skulls that had been between her thumb and first finger had shifted. They changed not only position but size. Now occupying the greater part of the back of her hand, knocking the rest of the ink out of the way. It was unnatural, and likely a grotesque sight for most to see. The way the ink shifted, and pressed the other ink out of the way was indeed odd, something she'd hated at first, but it was a necessity. Giving the demons no freedom at all required much greater energy and investment

Pressing two fingers from her left hand down against the ink, she lifted her head, staring across the table. It was simple enough to summon the demon to her consciousness or even a physical manifestation. Almost instantly the seat before her was engulfed in flame. Merely a visual trick. To everyone else, nothing was amiss. After a moment the fire dissipated, replaced by thick wisps of black smoke. A moment more and the smoke dissipated as the fire had, leaving behind a hunched figure. Demons liked their flashy entrances.

"Too small in 'ere." Salvoch noted, hunched in the booth. Being almost twelve feet came with its downsides. Not that he couldn't choose his physical, or astral appearance. He was merely one of the few who chose not to. Skye managed a smirk, the demonic figure in an ill-fitting suit almost managed to amuse her, even slightly. She had to admit, the charcoal suit did compliment his leathery, rosewood-coloured skin well.

"You didn't even order fo' me?" Salvoch tilted his head, putting on a frown. "You know how much I like black pudding. You'd think I was a slave 'ere or somethin'." The demon stretched out, his legs melting through the booth. At least he had a sense of humour.

There was some truth to his words. More a prisoner than a slave. It was a dangerous game, and there were those who would kill her on sight for not banishing the demons.

Skye shook her head slightly, knowing that to give the demon an audible response would out herself to the other occupants of the cage. The best case in that situation was them thinking she'd lost it. Had happened before. An overnight stay in a psychiatric ward had even happened once. Not a recommended experience.

Instead, Skye shifted her concentration, staring intently at the figure before her, doing her best to meet his black gaze. It wasn't entirely necessary, but eye contact would go a long way to strengthen the link. He was essentially part of her, but that didn't make communication trivial.

"You know I can't do that, Salvoch." The words weren't spoken, merely thought, knowing fine well the demon, when he cared to, could read her thoughts.

"Worth a try. I could always just eat that old couple over there." At that he cracked his jaw agape, normally at first, then comically wide, leaving a cavernous maw several feet wide on display.

"Not much meat on them." Skye broke eye contact, glancing at the couple. The old man was packing their leftovers into a tupperware box at the direction of his wife, a sad necessity. "Better with the workies." Skye shifted her glance from the old couple to the two men, the older and fatter of which was doubled over in his chair, lost in a fit of laughter. "He's even fattened himself up for you."

"YOU TEASE ME." The scream came as a slight surprise, and feeling the force of it hit her like a wave, causing a shudder. She knew it was detached from reality, but it did little to make her comfortable with it.

Behind the demon, the booth was once more engulfed in flame. Toying with a demon was generally a terrible idea. Toying with a bound, imprisoned demon was a slightly less bad idea.

Summoning him to her consciousness from the ink he was trapped within gave him some control over her senses. Though thankfully such an annoyance was unavailable when he was contained within the ink. Otherwise, Skye could only imagine the mess every waking minute would be. They could attempt to capture her attention, as Salvoch had, but could be easily enough ignored with practice. Salvoch was usually one of the better-mannered ones too.

"Let me eat 'im, and I'll give you one question." The demon lifted a singular finger, holding it before her. He wasn't lying either, and neither was it the first deal he'd tried to bargain.

Even trapped and bound to her as he was, his knowledge was far greater than her own. That included matters he had no right to be in the know of, including current affairs. How exactly that worked she wasn't sure, and not a single demon encounter she had led to an explanation. She could only surmise there was some strange, information-sharing demon hive mind at play. Or something.

She had learned early to never make a bargain with a demon, even though she'd broken those wise words on many occasions.

"You could always answer without the deal."

Salvoch scoffed, slamming both fists down upon the table. The hallucinatory table splintered. Then it shattered, exploding into hundreds of pieces that were sent hurtling around the small cafe. It was clear what he thought of that idea.

"No deal. Why did you drag me out anyway? Just to tease?" The table had reformed as the demon leaned forwards. He crossed his arms upon it, close enough that Skye could smell the decayed, putrid nature of his breath.

"Your outburst wasn't appreciated." Skye's gaze shifted, noting Wendy stepping out from the back, a large plate balanced in one hand with a cup and saucer in the other.

"Breakfast is here, Salvoch. Behave, and you might come in handy. The option to banish you always remains. Back to hell with you. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Salvoch snarled, jumping to his feet. The table smashed once more. He lifted his hand and it distorted, his fingers extending and mutating into massive claws. That feature she'd seen in their battle, there was a faded scar on her shin to show for it. Without the Leprechaun's Blessing, her leg wouldn't have been attached to her body. It hadn't been the first time it had saved her either. She missed it.

The threat of banishment was a sure-fire way to provoke any of the demons she kept imprisoned. It was the worst fate for them. Escaping hell and entering the mortal plane, especially non-temporarily, was far from a trivial task. More often than not it required aid, deliberately or not, from the mortal plane. To survive outside of hell for a prolonged period a demon needed a host or an anchor, willing or unwilling. They could possess people, objects, or in rarer cases, locations.

"Salvoch." The scene returned to normal, the demon sensing the annoyance before she even spoke. He could almost know her feelings before she did. A perk of quite literally being in her head.

More than any other he had provided information for free, most likely hoping to build enough good boy points to be freed. That was unlikely. She would see him banished before set loose.

The existing circumstances were far from what any demon wanted, but could still be worse. Many of them were thousands of years old. Some handful of years imprisoned by a mortal was still better than being banished.

"Apologies, ma'am. You know how it is. I am but your loyal servant. I owe you one question." His tone was jovial, but Skye knew it was mockery. Not a servant, a prisoner.

Wendy approached the table. She slid the cup and saucer down first, a steaming portion of black tea within. It smelled as cheap as humanly possible.

The breakfast was the real main event, a full-fried Scottish do. Skye appraised it: link sausage, lorne, eggs, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, black pudding, polony, bacon, hash browns, and toast- even burnt as she'd requested.

"Thank you."

"'Course, hon. Holler if you need anything."

Across the table, Salvoch was practically salivating. Human food did little for him, but it didn't stop him from showing his appetite. His appetite in truth was for something far worse. That had led to their first meeting and ensuing chase across Wyoming. Seven people, all kids, were murdered and eaten. Now he was stuck as Skye's unwilling passenger.

Skye lifted a slice of toast, tearing it in half before dipping it first into the egg and then the beans. Damn, it was good. Clearly cheap, but hot, fatty, and salty. Everything she needed.

Mana hangover was nothing to mock. A far too common occurrence as the number of tattoos she had continued to increase. It was possible one day she would reach her limit. She wasn't entirely sure what would happen then. Implode, perhaps. Explode. Tear a rift to a different plane or dimension. All that on top of unleashing a horde of demons on whatever poor location became her final resting place.