“All right Henri, here he comes,” Lucian said. I retrieved my pugio from the leather belt which harnessed it and held it at the ready. “Three… two… one.”
The door to the bathroom flew open and a man who looked severely inebriated stumbled inside, grasping at one of the urinals to steady himself. He fumbled with his pants and seemed to have great difficulty in locating his penis. His energy didn’t feel demonic—mostly chaotic—but it could be because the human was fronting. His back was to me, and though I was willing to take the chance, I’d prefer a visual confirmation that this man was, in fact, Seneser’s host.
“Did you get him?” Lucian asked impatiently. I grumbled a response, as though I was only suffering some indigestion. The man swiveled at the hip to glance behind him, making a mess of the urinal. His eyes were rimmed a feverish red, and his nose was running. I couldn’t determine conclusively if this was the same man—so compromised was his countenance—but he resembled Maxwell enough for me to make a move.
I leapt out of the stall and sliced the man on his outer thigh, shallow enough that it wouldn’t cause him excessive blood loss or impede his mobility too greatly. I’d once cut too deeply and had to carry my target to my drop-off point. It was taxing to say the least.
“What the fuck?” the man screeched, gripping his thigh in one hand and attempting to shove me away with the other. “What the hell’s wrong with you, you fucking psycho?”
Definitely a man and not a demon speaking. My dagger usually compelled the demon to take control of the vessel, but perhaps the man’s level of intoxication was preventing it. Regardless, we had to move.
“You’re coming with me,” I coaxed while yanking up his pants roughly. The man’s eyes took on a drowsy look.
“I’m coming with you,” he repeated.
I led him, still gripping his arm, out of the bathroom and into the nearest private room. Everything in it was a deep scarlet hue—the walls, the chaise, even the flooring. Judging from the decor, it was used to entertain patrons.
To Lucian I said, “Find Mescaline Mike and make him turn off the camera in Room Three. Vincent, join me at your earliest convenience and bring a clean bar towel if you can manage it.”
The room’s one chair wasn’t suitable for restraints, so I had to make use of the floor-to-ceiling pole. I subdued the man long enough to zip-tie his wrists behind him. His dress slacks were stained with blood, but the cut wasn’t so deep that I’d need to tie off the wound.
You and Lucian joined me soon after. It was a tight fit for the four of us. The man cowered in fear and began reciting a litany of admissions, none of them useful to me.
“I don’t know what you want with me, man, but I didn’t take the cash. I found it on me. I just wanted a night out. No harm, no foul. I think I still have some left.”
“What is he blabbering on about?” Lucian asked while you sniffed the air, having caught the scent of fresh blood.
“Left upper thigh, outside,” I told you. You may as well feed while we were at it.
“What’s he doing?” the man asked in a panic and tried to scoot away from your stealthy advance.
“Don’t worry about him,” I said to the man.
You freed your knife deftly and sliced open his pant leg so that the wound was accessible. The fabric tore like tissue paper, and I was satisfied with the blade’s sharpness. And your precision in avoiding cutting the man’s flesh.
“I promise I won’t hurt you,” you said in your seductive coo. Your hand was already squeezing the man’s thigh to make the blood pool.
Meanwhile, Lucian was seated comfortably on the chaise and sifting through his wallet. “You said you had money,” he said snottily. “Where is it?”
“I spent it,” the man said.
“On this?” Lucian held up a baggie of white powder with an eager grin.
“And women,” he said plaintively.
As if on cue, the man’s nose started to bleed. Was he trying to tempt us into a blood binge? Meanwhile, you crouched on your hands and knees with your haunches in the air like an animal and began to feed. Seeing you in that beastly posture was extremely distracting. I glanced over at Lucian, tapping out powder onto the chair’s vinyl armrest. I needed to take control of this interrogation.
“What’s your name?” I asked the man.
“Maxwell Weir.”
Lucian confirmed it by holding up the man’s driver’s license between his two elegant fingers before going back to cutting lines with it. At least we weren’t molesting the wrong man.
“Do you know if you are currently being possessed by a demonic being?”
Humans seldom took this question well. Their first instinct was generally to deny.
The man’s brow furrowed and he considered it. “It’s possible,” he said with surprising objectivity. “There are gaps in my memory. I woke up a few times with wads of cash on me. And in a strange place, not knowing how I got there.”
