SC - The Succubus Job

"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 peanut butter and jam sandwich with 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. "Magic type, 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 (and other things) 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 deep 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 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. That 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. 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 to be portals to a world of lust.