The Succubus's Silver

Author's Note:

This is the first in a four chapter urban fantasy novella that's being posted here. If you have comments or criticisms, please don't be shy in posting them! I'm going to ensure these chapters are all posted before the end of February, so if you'd rather wait for the full story, you'll not be waiting long.

Thanks!

-Tammy

The Succubus's Silver

Volume 1: The Loving Couple

Chapter 1

Chinnamani had set up her pizza stand within literal spitting distance of the Social Services building for a reason; the air was thick with that sanguine tang of loneliness, desperation and heartache that followed humans around when they felt they had no agency in their lives.

Greed and despair languished around the place like a swamp from which she drank deeply. Through whatever twist of fate had created the half-succubus-- aside from her father's penchant for putting his dick in things he probably shouldn't have-- she'd been robbed of the ability to actually

steal

the emotions she didn't inspire in someone, but she still could drink in from the ambient sensations to sustain her Glamour. It was unsatisfying and ultimately pretty futile; she'd

need

to satisfy herself in some other way eventually.

In her little world of food, she was a glutton eating at the dodgiest of Chinese buffets.

But maintaining her Glamour was hard, it took energy and effort, so every once in a while she'd pull on the fishing line tied to the bike rack opposite her stand and trip someone up. She'd put on the air of trying to help them up, of course but the closeness allowed her that moment to steal a bit of someone's anger and embarrassment. It was enough to keep her going for a few hours and they wouldn't remember what upset them in the first place after she was done. It was a small mercy, maybe.

Oh yes, she was a parasite.

But at least she wasn't the dumb bitch approaching Chinnamani's cart with demonic silver in her hand.

Chinnamani looked up to the woman as she approached, already dreading what was going to come out of those botox filled lips. She was pushing fifty with a bulldozer duct taped to a jet engine; pale, gaunt, utterly incensed like everyone around her was in the way of her grand ideas. She was just the kind of person who'd carry around Chinnamani's coin.

The moment her coin got close, the half-succubus felt her legs lock up-- she wouldn't be able to move until a deal was reached or the current holder willingly walked away. This woman didn't look the type who'd do something without a purpose, though; she wasn't going to leave unless it looked like there wasn't something Chinnamani could do for her.

The half-succubus sighed and drew up to her full height, the massive .454 revolver knocked her ribs plaintively as she adjusted her coat to hide its girth. The vacation was over, it seemed. She did her best to remain inscrutable, even putting on an easy going smile that probably looked friendly enough to anyone stupid enough to take her at face value.

The old woman glanced around nervously under the shade of her hundred dollar shawl like someone might figure out what she was doing. Almost like she was proving a point to someone, she tapped the coin on the counter twice. "So it's true?"

Chinnamani held her smile as she fished out an ice cube from her cooler and munched on it. "Your dime, your time. What's-- uh--" Great, she'd been practicing this crap for weeks when she felt the druggie had given off her coin. Weeks! Now when the time came to meet her new 'client', she couldn't come up with a rhyme. "Good job, brain." She planted her hands on the counter and leaned. "Well?"

"I expected you'd be. . ." Just briefly the woman looked admonished. "Taller, I guess."

"I get that a lot, yeah. So I'm guessing the person you got that from told you some song and dance about

a big spooky demon

or something, right?" Chinnamani wiggled her fingers mystically. "WOoOooo, spoOoky."

The woman fidgeted listlessly. She looked like she was about to turn away. Chinnamani put a check in the 'not my problem' box and went for another ice cube. The longer she could put off dealing with this shit, the more vacation she could have.

She didn't. "He said you could solve problems. . ."

Chinnamani stopped crunching her ice for a moment. 'Problems' were always a red flag. "Did he explain how this works?" She asked tonelessly.

"Uhm-"

"You lay out your problem, I decide if I'm going to accept it-- yeah, I know, you have the coin but I write the rules so bite me-- and if I

do

take the gig, I decide what's going to come of it. You can't stop this once its in motion." Chinnamani smiled at the uneasy look she got. "I'm a natural arbiter, everything's kept completely fair for all parties involved."

This would've been the moment to walk away, to leave all this silly nonsense behind and go live one's life and deal with one's problems the 'right' way. It was an obligation, part of the stupid compulsion that linked Chinnamani to the coin- her own way of injecting some humanity in the 'deal with a devil' trope. To her credit, the older woman looked like she was keenly aware of that fact. But in the end she still tapped the coin on the counter again. "I get it."

"Okay! So let's hear it. . ."

The woman's gaze trailed off to the side for a moment, when she spoke her voice was hollow and rehearsed-- but the flame under it, the venom and anger in her metaphysical aura swelled. Chinnamani had to fight the urge to reach for it and try to make it hers; she couldn't take what she didn't inspire in someone. . . .besides, it wasn't really her place to derive pleasure from someone's misfortune. If they came to her, she was obligated to listen.

"My husband," the woman began as Chinnamani grabbed another ice cube. "It'd started with the mail woman at his firm. I get it- I'm getting older and he has wandering eyes, but then he took my father's Mercedes! He thinks that he's going to keep it through the divorce, but-- oh, but he can't! That belonged to my father. . .

"He can't marry her while we're still together and I'm

not

giving him ten years of my life

and

my father's car." There was anger in her eyes, in her aura too, but it wasn't

right

. Something was off here.

Normally when someone was upset with a lover, it was a deep and abiding anger with that tangy hint of jealousy and smooth finish of a deep betrayal the likes of which usually left someone's aura a craggy mess of colors and senses. But there was none of that with her, just a kind of fragmented patchwork of disjointed emotions that had little relation to one another.

"Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's psychosis."

Mentioning the car made some of the muddier parts of her aura brighten in intensity to the point where Chinnamani was ready to say this whole thing had more to do with the car than her shitty marriage. How boring.

Still, she went along with it. "So what is it you expect me to do exactly?"

The woman frowned in consideration, "He took the car when he moved out. I don't know, but I have to think he's

stinking

it up with that little harlot." As an afterthought she added. "He's trying to cut me out of our accounts, too! He's berating me and fighting me every step of the way! He's made it clear he wanted a clean break, but he's leaving me with no choice but to-- well, to be

here

."

"If you're in the habit of asking for help from street food vendors and want someone to just get the thing back from him, maybe ask Crazy Ray-- he sells hot dogs and stuff on James street. Ex Navy Seal, great guy."

She wasn't impressed.

Chinnamani sighed theatrically and made a dismissive motion. She planted her elbow on the pan rack, taking her chin in her hand as she looked the woman over.

It was always better to be completely honest and blunt when dealing with a demon, paradoxically enough and someone, somewhere had informed this new client of that fact. Even if she didn't really adhere to the idea, the fact that Chinnamani didn't have to dig this crap out of her was a refreshing change of pace. That was probably a bad sign but it was too late, she already knew she was going to accept this case even without the power of the coin needling her into complying.

"So you understand, this only happens once. You get one shot at it and there's

no takebacks.

If you don't like the outcome that's not my fault or my problem!" Chinnamani plucked another ice cube to munch on. "I'm going to need a name and an address where I can find this guy."

"Y- you'll get him to stop calling and to return the car?"

The half-succubus looked at her like she was stupid, then smiled easily. "Pretty sure I'm up for a good seminarian award if I did, huh?" The darker parts of her nature fluttered and she felt her soul wrench against them; the constant desire to take, to destroy and maim filled her mind with all kinds of ways she could permanently fix this couple's issue. An image of the older woman choked blue by her shawl forced her to stand a little straighter, to meet her 'client' head on. "Like I said, nothing's promised or guaranteed."

"Except selling my soul." The woman said cooly.

"Let's be honest, I mean real honest, if you thought this was your

actual

soul on the line here you wouldn't be coming to me. I mean, demons? Really? Who believes in that silly shit? This is a transaction, just two free people doing business."

That seemed to mollify the woman for the moment, she eyed the tarnished silver coin in her hand and turned it over a few times, rubbing at the face of some roman guy Chinnamani had never bothered to learn about. She looked as morose and thoughtful as the face on the coin and for just a split second it seemed as though she might do the sensible thing and give it back to its 'owner'.

The prospect faintly scared Chinnamani, the last time someone had done that, the damned coin had forced her into a six hundred mile road trip looking for someone-

anyone-

to take the fucking thing and give her something to

do

.

But just like that the moment passed and the old woman handed it back to her. A faint thrill roiled through Chinnamani like icy fire as the metal touched her skin and it linked itself to her once more-- sweet agony and ecstasy rolled into one. A thousand images of the various people she'd 'helped' with it ran through her mind in the span of an instant, each face and name scribed itself across her soul and in that brief moment she felt more human than she ever had in her short thirty year life. Normal. Natural. At ease with the world and herself.

The staggering high lasted only a second before the client opened her mouth with a pearl of wisdom: "If you go into a church, you'll still burn. . ."

Chinnamani blinked away the sensation and tucked the coin into her jeans. "Sorry, what?"

She looked irritated at having to repeat herself. "I said: If you do an Internet search, you'll learn."

"About what?"

"Are you even paying attention?!" She exclaimed. She tugged on her shawl and leaned in, whispering. "Mark Gonzalez. Gonzalez and Friar Law Firm; you can find them online easily enough. . ."

"Oh, right." Chinnamani wiped her blonde and brown mane back. "Sure. So I'll just show up at his

law firm

and steal the car-- you know what. I just might." She offered her hand with a sly, pernicious grin. What a way to begin a 'job'. "This is compulsory, by the way."

The woman hesitated one final time, at least enough to say that she did, and then she took Chinnamani's hand. A heat sealed their flesh for one brief instant and a flood of recent memories and thoughts burst through the half-succubus's vision: the drive here in a red Corvette, skipping out on putting money in the meter, looking on a short woman with deeply tanned skin and a shock of blonde hair with brown lowlights. Wondering how in the hell

it

could be her. Then fumbling for the coin with sweaty fingers and that unnatural taint that'd been part of her life since the druggie had given it to her.

And a name: Janet Gonzalez.

Chinnamani smiled when Janet flinched back, looking at her palm and the new circle brand that'd woven itself into her skin. They shared a look before Chinnamani drew back her own hand to show it unmarred. For added effect, she wiggled her fingers. "No going back now."

Some part of her was saddened by the run down woman, that her choices lead her to this and that in the end she may well have screwed herself to get what she was after. Chinnamani wasn't sure what happened to people who took her coin once they died, she didn't have any of her mother's ability to corrupt people or take their souls or any of that textbook demonic shit, all she had was a damned coin that forced her to get people to agree to let her help them with their problems.

Well, there were the other things; the wings that wouldn't let her fly, the tail always rubbing against her belt line, and the regal horns that swept forward from just over her ears-- thankfully hidden under her Glamour. A coin and a bunch of things she had to hide from people. Some demon.

"I'll find you in a few days, if you don't hear from me before then, just wait longer!"

Janet was too busy staring at her brand to do more than mumble a vague acknowledgement.

"That's normal, I promise. It keeps us connected and it keeps me from running away-- much as I might want to." Chinnamani rolled her eyes. "Look, it's fine. Really."

"I-" Janet glanced around. "I- need to go."

"Just-" she hesitated momentarily. "Just don't go into a synagogue, temple, shrine or church until we're done, yeah? Something about 'holy ground' makes me really itchy and I don't like being itchy. It's distracting. 'Kay?"

"Uh- y- yeah."

"All right then, buh-bye now." Chinnamani looked at her cart and briefly considered leaving it there, oven and all, but then she'd have to answer a court summons- again- and risk having her food service permit revoked. . . .

and

lose out on one of the best feeding spots in the city. She groaned petulantly before she started breaking things down.

She was half way done scraping cheese off the last screen when a woman cleared her throat behind her. "Sorry, I'm packing up for the day."

"That's fine, got your permits?" The voice was like satin-- warm, and smooth and liltingly feminine while also carrying an authoritative edge. Intrigued, Chinnamani looked back.

She almost wished she hadn't-- good heavenly shit she wished she hadn't.

The woman was a cop, slender but tall and robust with pleasant curves hiding under a crisp uniform. And there was that belt, the one ringed with all her gear that made her hips so holdable; that face, those angles-- vaguely Norse or Swedish, maybe. Coppery hair and vibrant blue eyes! Chinnamani actually gaped as she looked up to the officer.

"Holy shit. . ." the half-succubus breathed.

"Is that a no?" The beauty-- Laidlaw, by her name plate-- said. Laidlaw? Like the garbage company? Chinnamani tittered. That only seemed to baffle the red-head as she scrunched her eyebrows, her left hand falling idly to her sidearm. "You got a reason for the iron too?" She was a lefty, too!

Someone in hell was getting ice water and a handjob, Chinnamani was certain.

At some point her coat had slid back to reveal the butt of the pistol but Chinnamani had been too busy gawking to realize. "Um-" she coughed. She'd done this song and dance before. She needed to get a hold of herself, even when every instinct in her screamed fuck, kill or destroy; getting shot wasn't going to help her do any of those things. Carefully she laid her hands on the counter top and leaned forward. "Sorry, I'm- I have a weakness for tall, beautiful women in uniform."

"That's nice, but what's with the gun?" All business. Fuck, could she get any more perfect?

"So I have a permit for that, too. It's in my cart here- mind if I get it out?"

"Sure," Laidlaw said idly. Her eyes followed that hand every inch of the way until Chinnamani laid out her documents. The vendor's license, the food service license, the concealed carry and legal registration. All up to date and perfectly legit. "Four fifty four casul? Expecting to get robbed by Godzilla?" The officer glanced at her briefly as she rifled through the paperwork. "Bit of a big gun, don't you think? Who even thought it was a good idea to sign off on this?"

"I like to make a lasting impression and I had people that owed me favors." Chinnamani clasped her hands together, leaning over the counter to look up just over her carry permit, to meet those beautiful eyes. If she'd had any of her mother's ability she'd simply have charmed the officer, instead she had to work it like everyone else. "Maybe I can make an impression on you, too." She punctuated her offer with a vague doe eyed look.

It was earning her no points. "You just might." She folded up the documents and handed them back. "Mind if I have a look around?"

"If I could get you to open up anything I have and explore it, I think I'd be doing a service to mankind." Chinnamani stepped aside, offering unfettered access while situating herself in the best position to 'observe' Laidlaw's investigation-- and her firm curves.

The woman was thorough and precise, she went through every drawer, all the condiment bottles, even the dough trays searching for whatever she thought she'd find. Chinnamani reveled in the visage, indulging in the subtle turn of Laidlaw's body when she'd have to duck low to poke her head in the cabinet to feel around for hidden compartments. In the back of her mind, she imagined the way Laidlaw would've looked twisted between her thighs, how her hair would be splayed out in a messy halo of fire on a sweaty pillow as Chinnamani pressed her further and further.

Laidlaw would thrust a hand out to stop her- or encourage her- of course, and Chinnamani would keep riding. Harder and faster, massaging lip to lip while she pinned the taller woman down and forced her to cry out her name. . . .oh yes, the way her back would arch and contort to the sound of "Cinnamon!"

"Hey--"

Cinnamon blinked. "Huh?" The officer was holding a baggie of flour. "Oh, that's flour."

"So if I open this--"

"You'd best be making a pie. Or letting me make one out of you." She smiled teasingly.

The officer gave her a disapproving look as she set the bag down and went back to her searching. By the time she'd finished searching the cart and the cheap station wagon Chinnamani used to haul it around, the half-succubus had memorized every line and curve leading down from that slender neckline to her appreciable chest-- even if the body armor got in the way-- to the powerful outline of her thighs and feet. She'd mentally mapped out the hours and hours of pleasure she'd inflict upon the woman and all the things she'd pull from that lilting purr.

Laidlaw didn't seem to realize it entirely, but there was a caution in her manner that wasn't there before, some quiet instinct that only ever belonged to the hyper aware; something that had probably warned her of Chinnamani.

"So you're not selling drugs. . ."

Chinnamani scoffed, "If I had it in me I'd help them, but I can't stop people from destroying themselves. I've tried."

Laidlaw considered the shorter woman anew, then produced a notepad so she could scribble down her findings. Chinnamani almost reached out to touch her, half to feel her skin and half to show her how honest she was being. But she didn't have the coin, Laidlaw wouldn't have received anything and in the end all Chinnamani would wind up doing was looking weird.

Just great. Who the hell dealt drugs to poor people, anyway?

Then it clicked. "Oh-- you saw me shaking that woman's hand and she didn't buy anything, so you figured I was probably up to no good." Had there

been

a cop car parked somewhere nearby? Just the SUV that always seemed to hang out near the bar, but that was. . . .that was it. Directly across from where Chinnamani set up. "Ah! I get it now." She smiled. "So this is our fated rendezvous, you in your bright white Tacoma and me, a humble pizza maker-- It's destiny, you don't need to hide your curiosity from me any longer!"