The Forest Bull (18 page)

Florida

Marcus had clearly warmed to his narrative, but it was time for a reality check. Risa held up a hand to silence him, and to his credit, he obeyed. She’s tough like that.

“Marcus, what makes you think Delphine should die?” she asked.

Bluntly, Wally added “What makes you think you are a killer? Of a woman like her?” They were legitimate questions. This was a medium-sized insurance employee with no presumptive experience as an assassin. It seemed like a reasonable point of contention.

He thought for a seco
nd and started speaking slowly, “Well, Derek was really healthy, you know? The whole thing was just so out of character for me, and Derek, even. I just know that she did something to him because, for him to die like that, with his face slumped against my car window . . . it’s just so fucked up.” He hesitated then added, “And, now, I still see her. At night, sometimes. Do you believe me?” He looked around for disbelief but found none, sinking appreciatively into his chair a bit. He had come to the right place for this type of problem.

Suma asked, “In your dreams?”

A violent shake of his head. Marcus was adamant. “No, I’m awake, I think. But I don’t know how she gets in the house without me hearing. How does she not wake my dog up? We’re five feet apart, for God’s sake. She oozes onto me, and I’m in her, fucking for all I’m worth, and no one else knows. I feel like I’m coming unglued, but just the smell of her on my shirt makes me fucking insane. I mean, what do I do, announce to the world that every night I’m balls deep in a ghost orgy? So I keep the secret. And I know the only way to stop is to kill her, or make her go someplace else. I don’t know.”

“A succubus.
Plain and simple.” I spoke, Risa nodded, and Wally nearly growled. She
hated
sexual competition. “Marcus, she’s not human, but you already knew that, right? And, now, this thing that defies every chart or data stream you’ve ever seen is taking your life from you, just like Derek. But you’re holding out longer because you’re probably a good guy with a clean slate who just wants to go to work, raise his family, and live your life, right?”

“I thought I was
insane. I’m an evidence guy, no matter how contrary to my feelings. Occam’s razor and all that, right? But then I think about Derek’s headstone, and I just sort of
knew
.” Marcus had lost his innocence to this creature. Now, he was losing even more in a slow drip that filled the succubus with his life and stolen memories with each nocturnal union. Sadly, he did so willingly in a haze of pleasure. Giving wanton gratification at the cost of life was an ace that immortals played too often.  Few humans could resist the searing touch of a creature designed for seduction and Marcus, although resilient, was fortunate we could intervene. If he let us.

I thought for a moment.
“Marcus, could you arrange an introduction with Delphine? Soon? I think that, in her line of work, money talks. Maybe a very generous offer can bring the lady south for a date with a tall, ravishing Midwesterner, skilled in the ways of love, a man whose very presence in the room makes women swoon.-“

“Okay, we get it, You
r Highness. You want to play stud again and bring this succubus to us, rather than be in her lair.” Risa could not roll her eyes any more dramatically in mockery. It’s a good thing I’m not overly sensitive.

             
“It peels her away from the staff, which is probably complicit in her needs,” Wally elaborated. “Getting her out of there gives us a chance to see if she makes contact with any other immortals while she’s on our turf. I can convince the hotel staff to give us access. Or Risa can do it with a kick to the balls,” she finished, earning a wintry smile from Risa, no matter how true. Risa simply cannot accept the fact that Wally is the consummate charmer, especially when it comes to bellhops and bartenders. I walked over to the table and picked up the necklace given to us by the Baron, watching the jeweled eye glint flirtatiously in the light.

             
“I don’t know about all this, man. She’s set up like a queen. Why the hell would she leave? Just to bang one single john a thousand miles away? What have you got that she needs?” Marcus openly doubted me.

             
“What she needs? A woman with money, staff, virtually eternal life? Dominion over men and a never ending river of lust and pleasure? You think I can lure her solely on the basis of my boyish good looks and some cash? No, Marcus. I don’t think that, no matter how dashing I may be,” Wally cooed mockingly, batting her eyes at me “—well, I could never have anything that she needs. But I have something far better.”

             
“What’s that?” Marcus asked me, puzzled. I brandished the necklace, turning lazily on its chain.

             
I tore my eyes away from the dancing horse to look at him. “I have something she
wants
.”

Morning broke gently. Intermittent sun
spots strutted across the canal in shards of whites and yellows, reluctantly giving way to the blue that shouldered upward towards the streaky clouds. I pulled on shorts and decided that I would watch our resident long-necked heron fishing by the dock until the house woke up, along with our guests. I walked softly past a deeply breathing Marcus, sleeping on the couch with Gyro, who had insinuated himself onto the couch in a tangle of knobby legs. Oddly, Marcus looked cradled in comfort, despite sharing his bunk with a beast. Crossing the yard, my feet welcomed the rough wood of the dock, and I perched, legs dangling, as the neighborhood came to life.

A click from the sliding glass doors announced I had a visitor, but I was so content
, staring at the water, that only a waft of rose scent identified Risa, who dropped a familiar arm over my shoulders and leaned against me as she lowered herself to lean on my side.

“You smell like roses . . .
and Wally. Sleepover last night for you girls?” I teased, nudging her as she yawned and slapped my thigh lightly in protest.

“Something
like that.” Her grin was wicked. “Suma took Wally’s bed. We kicked Marcus to the couch after you went to sleep and we were done discussing our brilliant plans for the tramp from Louisiana.”

“Hey now,” I chided,
“She’s a courtesan, not a tramp. Big difference. Like three grand.” I leered at her with what I hoped was my creepiest smile. I’m quite the charmer, especially before coffee. “Do you feel like things are changing beyond our control?” I asked her, giving voice to the vague fear I was carrying.

“I
think I do. I know Wally does. We talked about it. You know her impatience makes things seem much more immediate, but,” her voice softened as she formed her thoughts; “I think she’s right this time. I keep looking around corners, mentally, you know, wondering what it is that we’re missing here in the larger scheme. I don’t like being toyed with. Elizabeth is mocking us, somehow. All of these things are related. I just know it. I’m out of my element a bit here because you and Wally are so much better at using instinct. I just grind facts and then point you like a weapon. A very handsome weapon, especially when you don’t shave or brush your teeth. One thing I don’t understand about Elizabeth and her so-called daughters. Do they all get along? I’ve never seen a family that didn’t squabble or compete in some way. If there’s a way, maybe we can drive a wedge somewhere to make them come out and play.” She kissed my shoulder, and I savored the familiarity of that small act, reminding myself to groom thoroughly in appreciation of the gesture.

“I’ll call the Baron and throw a few things his way.
Sibling rivalry . . . yes. Yes, every family fights. And these are killers. Good idea. Maybe he’ll see a thread and run with it,” I told her, but for the moment, we just sat quietly in contemplation of the water, the sun, and each other.

Wally dr
ove Marcus back to his hotel after a late breakfast, but not before extracting a promise that he would return the same evening for dinner. There were many more questions to ask of him after a day of our minds percolating with the possibilities his information broached. Suma took my Wagoneer to the Hardigan Center in order to spend the day with Boon. Her leave of absence from work, taken at first as a simple vacation, looked to be more valuable each day, as her presence was welcome in our group. With quiet humor and an aura like a furtive smile, she complimented our rabble nicely.

As a chat with Cazimir was in order, I got comfortable on my bed, powered up the laptop
, and briefly typed. I connected with the Baron and was greeted with a wan smile as he settled into his desk chair. He looked drawn and older. His vigor was somehow washed out by the lamps of his home, which threw light on more of the interior than we had previously seen. Stately arches of hewn wood were spanned by square beams, their lengths scored with axe marks that attested to the age of the structure. It was rugged but cultured, with meaningful-looking items placed on nearly every flat surface. On a table, a charger of burled wood and chased silver. Pears sat within the platter, huddled together in the middle of the smooth depression made from years of use. A museum-quality table spanned half the room, enhanced by turned wooden candelabras placed at every third chair. Tapers of beeswax sat unlit in their bases, and on each wall, tapestries hung with the stillness that only great weight and craftsmanship can bring to so large a weave. Lurid scenes of the hunt quivered with motion in the threads, still brilliant after years on the wall.

But these items paled
in comparison with the crown jewels of the lodge, mounted on the beam closest to the Baron’s desk. Five feet long, more than a foot in diameter, and tailing away to a lethal point, the aurochs horns shone like obsidian. I could not envision what type of beast might carry those upright, let alone wield them like swords. Periodic specks of gray broke through the unrelenting blackness of the horns, which were held in place by a bronze ring nearly a foot wide. The display was an otherworldly image out of time, driving home the point that the Baron’s family- and residence- were far different than anything we had ever seen before. My house had the feel of a roadside motel; the Baron’s was a portal to a life that disappeared centuries earlier. I sat mute in the face of this
otherness
and asked, somewhat cowed by the scene, “Sir, are you feeling well?”

“No, Ring. I will n
ot draw out my answer, I am tired, and I have an inarticulate fear that something is happening with Elizabeth and the women she brings into her sphere of influence. I cannot say why, but I have an echo in my bones that she is moving inexorably to some sort of violent conclusion. I fear for her. I fear for those around her, and the good souls that she may take because of her moral corruption. And, for the first time, I fear not being here to help her.” He bowed his head, looking more elderly than I thought possible. It shocked me to see him deteriorate this quickly, but stress can eat a person from within until he collapse in a rumbling heap. I tempered my sympathy by recalling the fact this man, essentially a stranger, still had someone watching us from a distance. That jolted me back to the middle regarding my opinion of the Baron, no matter how I felt about his current situation. I decided to remain on his side, at least on the surface.

“I know we are getting closer to her, Cazimir. We’ll find her, I promise you. One by one, her daughters make themselves known to us through their cri
mes or our diligence. So rest, sir. Rest, and I’ll call you with each step as we narrow our search. I won’t stop until I have my hands on her.” I hoped my resolute tone would give him some solace.

“Thank you, Ring,
I trust your efforts. Let me give you a bit of advice from an old man, if I may. When you get close, very close, be sure you are speaking to her directly. Because you do not want to grab a creature as spirited as Elizabeth by the tail,” he finished. He bid me goodbye and cut the connection, leaving me to wonder about tigers, tails, and how I could convince Elizabeth that anything other than her surrender was suicide for her.

But first, I had to convince myself.

              Delphine was no ordinary courtesan. While she certainly had a small presence on the internet, it quickly became apparent that seeing her involved a more traditional methodology. My email expressing interest in meeting her was returned promptly by a staff member named Joseph. He informed me that, after a brief description of myself, I might be permitted to speak directly with the lady herself. Given that I was going to tailor my personal history directly to her particular needs, I was confident that, no later than dinner, I would hear the voice of a succubus who had been operating in New Orleans for decades, if not centuries.

             
And, Delphine, who would certainly be the model of decorum, would hear the voice of her very last client: Me.

             
I called the given number, and Joseph answered on the second ring, neither anxious nor dismissive, but, nonetheless, making me aware that I wanted something to which he controlled access. His voice was silky, cultured, and capable of turning even the smallest words into insults. I hated him in seconds. He was the type of officious prick that graces desks in government agencies and salons, alike. But even roadblocks like Joseph can be surmounted, and, when I combined the words
inheritance
with
jewelry
, his voice quickly changed into a more subservient tone I instantly recognized as interest.

             
“Let me connect you to Miss Delphine, if you’ve a moment, Ring,” he gushed. I had tickled the right ivories to hear the tune I wanted. A static click announced that Delphine was on the line, in more ways than one.

             
“Mister Hardigan, thank you for calling on me. I understand you’re interested in the two of us getting acquainted?” she asked in the measured tones of a belle. She was good.

             
“I am, and thank you for taking my call without a prior, written appointment to chat. Manners are fading, I’m afraid, but I admit to being a bit anxious about meeting you. What with my new situation and all,” I finished, leaving the unspoken dangling for her. She bit.

             
“Situation? Tell me, Ring-may I call you Ring, since we may be friends quite soon?” she asked, and I gave my permission, quickly. “How has your situation changed, that you find yourself wanting my company? You realize, of course, that I see only very select gentlemen, and, not to be rude, but may we start with me asking what it is you do?”

             
I knew that this was the delicate part of the conversation. A mixture of truth, lies, and something in between was what Wally and Risa suggested as a tactic to draw her into the discussion, that we might convince her to leave her gated walls.

             
“Well, to be honest, very little. I had hoped to enjoy your company, show you around my city,” I was interrupted by her peal of laughter.

             
“Oh, Ring, that is
precious
. I think that Joseph- whom I’ll deal with directly,” her voice took an iron tone, “has sorely misread who you are. You most certainly do not meet the qualifications of the men I see.” She finished and dragged on a cigarette, waiting for me to speak so she could end the conversation. Now was the time where I would demonstrate the fine line between carrot and stick. How she would react was uncertain, but appealing to vanity was a fine place to start.

             
“Miss Delphine, if you’ll hear me out,” I began in my most placating tone, “True, I have very little money and no job, currently. But I am a confident man. I’m also quite nice-looking, according to my neighbor. She says I remind her of her middle son, who lives in Illinois” I preened. I could not imagine Delphine’s face. “I can show you a really nice time. We have a great pizzeria just around the corner that serves wine.”

             
With that absurdity, she brought the hammer down. “Ring, I am holding a cigarette. Do you think I lit it? No. I cannot recall the last time I drew my own bath. I have a staff that respects and fears me because of my reputation and men who will gladly give their last cent to be with me. Now, I think this jest has gone on long enough, and I bid you a pleasant day.”

             
Before she could hang up, I set the hook. “If you insist, Delphine . . . I only thought you would visit me because my uncle was a baron, and I wanted to use the jewelry he left me for something memorable. Like you
supposedly
are.”

Her intake of breath told me all I needed to know about her curiosity, which was alive and well.
It was time to close the negotiations.

“
I can send you the same picture of the necklace I gave the other French lady. She told me she was very interested in visiting after she saw it, since she thought it might be a family heirloom.” Now I brought the stick to bear. “I think that you might reconsider, given that the necklace was handcrafted by an artisan of incredible skill, one of the finest in Europe. What would it hurt for you to take a look? I mean, if it’s good enough for someone as classy as--I think you pronounce her name Sandrine --is it good enough for you? I just want to have a really memorable time, you know?” I chided her and held my breath.

             
“Sandrine?” she asked, and I heard her breathing quicken. “I may be interested, after all. I do have some free time this week, as it turns out. Social seasons can be so
dull
.” She was struggling to regain her velvety composure, and failing.

“
Can you describe this jewelry, Ring?” she asked me, solidly on the line.

             
“Why don’t I show you, instead? Remember, I’m just an unemployed nobody, so my description would be crude. Let the necklace speak for itself, right?” I asked her. She covered the receiver momentarily and then read off a phone number for me to send a picture.

             
“Send it right along, won’t you?” she asked, letting her mask of control slip ever so slightly. “Who knows, Ring? It may be time for me to visit the tropics again.”