DwtD

[maderr]

This may yet get some revisions, I haven't quite decided yet. But for now, 1 of 3 in how Chris and Sable got together.

*notes* These stories are going to jump around a lot. If things get too confusing, let me know. The first one (Consort), Chris has been a detective for almost ten years. In this story, five years. If there's anything else that confuses, lemme know.



File 131: Devoured

The apartment was on what the norms considered the poor side of town. A good five blocks of city that for all intents and purposes was going, as more than a few cops had said on their routes, 'to hell in a hand basket.'

It was more accurate to say that its occupants had left hell, but no one living there ever saw fit to correct the cops.

The shoddy-looking neighborhood kept most of the humans out, and that kept both the humans and the 'night creatures' happy.

The apartment in question was on the very outskirts of the neighborhood, stopping just a block shy of the river. The neighborhood was often the victim of flooding during the wetter seasons - if the rain didn't stop in another day or so there would be plenty of flooding - but again that meant humans were in no hurry to visit.

Chris' office and apartment were at the opposite end of the neighborhood, right at the edge where poor began to meet rich. But most of his time was spent further in; he knew the streets better than he knew his house sometimes.

"You're Mr. Chesnee?" he asked as he stepped inside, water dripping from his hair and beat up brown leather jacket. He slicked his bright blonde hair back from his eyes, and motioned for Douglas - even more wet than he was - to get his notebook out.

The imp complied, puling out a notebook that was only slightly damp around the edges.

"You're White? Shall I take your coats? Would you like something to drink?"

Chris shook his head. "Just the facts, Mr. Chesnee. If a murder is involved, time is of the essence."

The man bobbed his head up and down, twisting his hand nervously as he led them out of the hallway and into the living room. "Call me Chez, please."

While from the outside everything looked shabby and rundown, the inside was a display of wealth and comfort that never failed to amuse Chris.

Because night creatures usually did very, very well when they played at being humans. Mostly because even Imps lived for many centuries and more than a few creatures were immortal. So outside was nothing but rot and decay, but inside there was silk and velvet, Turkish rugs and butter-soft leather.

Chris remained standing. He cast his eyes about the room, making note of the nervous, unhappy occupants. An older woman with gray hair and pea-green eyes, small round glasses perched on her beak-like nose - a goblin. Beside her on the couch, a young man with half a dozen earrings and an ash-blonde goatee, hair sprayed into stiff spikes, dressed in leather and buckles and mesh - a free vampire. Probably unregistered - he'd have to check that later. Despite the roughness of his appearance, the vampire was still dangerously attractive - but he would be a poor vampire if he wasn't.

Two beautiful young women, twins, with white-blonde hair and clear green eyes, sat in the leather chair opposite the couch. Rather, one sat in the chair and they other sat on an armrest. They were holding hands and looking somber, but upon seeing Chris they brightened considerably. "Chris!" The one on the armrest spoke first.

Her twin spoke next. "We didn't know he called you."

"Well now we feel better."

Chris' lips twitched. "Splish. Splash. How are you?"

"We've been better."

The man who had called Chris looked between the detective and the twins. "You know the river nymphs?"

"Yes," Chris nodded. "They helped me find a necklace, once." He shook his head. "Back to business. You said the owner was murdered in a locked room. Start from the beginning and tell me everything. And I do mean everything."

The man nodded, running a hand through his thin white hair. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed at his small, flat nose - problems or a nervous gesture, it was hard to tell. But he was a brownie; the murder of the 'family' he'd latched onto was, to say the least, upsetting. "Gent invited over a few of his friends," he motioned to the others in the room as he spoke. "To see some new books he'd purchased. They arrived, one by one, and by three o'clock everyone was here and waiting. Gent had arranged the get together for three, but it's not unusual for him to occasionally run late when he has no books. We didn't suspect anything until it got to be four o'clock. When we finally forced the door open…he was gone. Probably dead."

Splish, the twin sitting in the chair, spoke up. "He was a collector, Chris. Always collecting this or that book on his favorite subject of the week."

"I see," Chris said thoughtfully. Beside him, Doug's pen flew over his notebook as he made notes on what was said, who said, where they sat and whatever other details he could fit on the pages of his small notebook. "And what species was Gent?"

There was a slight pause, then Chez gave a slight cough. "He was human."

"…What?" Chris asked, and even Doug's furious writing stuttered to a halt. "He was human? Living here? You’re his friends?"

The goblin woman pursed her lips in disapproval. "And what about you, Mr. Detective? You're nothing more than human. Why do you consider it strange that we would be friends with a normal?"

"I don't consider it strange," Chris said. He shot his assistant a warning look and Douglas ceased laughing. "What concerns me is his death. Murdered humans means normals have to get involved in it."

"Not with Gent. He's been out of the normal loop for ages."

"Was he a witch? An alchemist?"

Chez shook his head. "Just a book collector. And he liked us more than humans. There was nothing else special about him."

"Hmm…" Chris exchanged a look with Douglas, then turned back to the witnesses. "So. He was locked in his study, and an hour after you had all assembled someone finally decided it was weird he was standing all of you up to hole himself up in a locked study?"

Splash shrugged. "It's not too unusual for him, especially with something like this. He'd just acquired some new books and wanted to show them off. But before he ever shows anyone anything, he examines and catalogues everything."

"That requires locking the door?" Chris asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Chez said. "Those books are worth several million dollars, monetarily. But their real worth is much, much greater. Alchemical manuals, spell books, grimoires - all of them rare, hard to find, a few almost legendary. You can imagine the value…"

Chris winced.

"Exactly," Chez said. "So he disguised the books and catalogued them according to his own special system. So trying to find the book you want is impossible except for Gent."

"What a headache." Chris sighed. "So after you five sat here for an hour, it finally occurred to you to open the door?"

"Yes."

"All right. I would like it if you all remained here, for further questioning." Chris motioned for Douglas to follow him. "Come on, Doug."

Still clutching his notebook, Doug followed quietly behind Chris. He ignored the curious looks of the other creatures in the room, especially the curled lip of the goblin woman on the couch.

Inside the book room, Chris closed the door. "Early thoughts?"

Douglas shrugged. "It's possible someone out there is responsible, but I doubt it. Nymphs and vampires have no need of such things, and it doesn't seem like a goblin's style." He frowned, thinking. "Assuming it was somehow an outside job - why kill him? It would be easier to wait until he was asleep or out of the apartment."

Chris was examining the perimeter of the room. "It doesn't make sense, that's for certain. It's also peculiar that any one of them could have used magical means to check on him - but they didn't. They forced the door open manually. I wonder why? Remind me to ask them."

Douglas pulled out his notebook again and then tucked it away as they began to explore the small room in earnest, his mismatched eyes intent on picking out anything strange or out of place.

It was probably intended to be a bedroom, but the deceased Gent had crammed it full of floor-to-ceiling bookcases, all but one neatly filled with books of various color, shape, size and condition. Chris laughed softly as he read the visible title on one. "I wonder which book he decided to disguise as Call of the Wild. A bestiary, you think?"

"Or a practical guide to something," Douglas said with a laugh. "Maybe something to do with werewolves."

"Hmm…I hope he's more creative than that." Chris looked around the room, rubbing his chin in thought. "See anything?"

"No, actually. Except, you know, for the blood and the finger."

Chris nodded, finally taking a longer look at the old leather chair behind the desk set in the middle of the room. "It does look like someone ate him."

"The goblin?" Douglas muttered, shoving at his glasses.

Chris smiled faintly. "Nah. A goblin would make a huge mess, but it would never leave a piece of dinner behind. I suppose I should be wondering where she gets her meals…"

"Better not to ask, for now," Doug said regretfully. "'Sides, as much as I hate to say it, Chris - she doesn't look the type to eat a friend."

"Well, we've more or less established that none of them killed him. As per usual with a locked room, it's always something so painfully obvious you don't see it."

Doug rolled his eyes. "Like what? A book?"

"Not that obvious," Chris said with a snort. He gingerly pushed the chair aside to examine the papers and miscellany scattered across the desk. Set just off the center of the desktop was a ledger full of nonsensical writing - no doubt the catalogue. "I'm confused."

"It took you this long to think there was something weird going on?"

"Shut it," Chris replied without heat. He picked up the ledger and flipped idly through it as he spoke. "But think about it. A perfectly normal human - as normal as they get anyway - collects magic books but clearly has no interest in practicing magic. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he also forbids its usage in his house. Even his brownie didn't seemed inclined toward using magic to maintain the house - this place has the smell of cleaners and air freshener about it. A good brownie doesn't need such things."

Douglas nodded. "And it's obvious magic had something to do with his death."

"Confusing, to say the least." Giving up on the incomprehensible ledger, he set it down exactly as he'd found it and picked up a smaller, leather bound volume. Flipping it open revealed it was an appointment book. "Meticulous in all things. This guy was rather busy for a stuffy old collector." Thoughtfully Chris flipped back to examine everything Gent had done starting a month ago. He paused when he came to the day before, looking up at Douglas. "'Shipment due,' this says. 'Four o'clock.'"

"Suppose that's the shipment?" Douglas nodded toward a stack of two small boxes on the side of the desk nearest him.

Chris stepped around the desk to examine them for himself. "Probably." He looked at the appointment book again and turned a page until he was at the 'notes' section for that month. "Yeah, here it is…wait a second. This says three boxes due at four o'clock…and he made an addendum that all went well, beyond their arriving an hour late.

"…So where's the third box?"

"Exactly." Chris flipped back to the calendar page and looked at the notes for that day. "Showing for friends: SS, VT, RG, SB." Chris' idle curiosity narrowed to focus on a single point. "Why are there five people listed?"

Douglas shrugged. "Maybe one couldn't show?"

"Let's go find out." Keeping the appointment book, Chris stalked back into the living room.

The assembled night creatures sat quietly, murmuring in low voices as though anything truly audible would offend or incriminate. It would have been eerie, to see them so stone-faced and apparently uncaring, except that Chris was long used to the stoic way night creatures dealt with such things. Sobbing and wailing and crying would have been offensive, tacky.

It showed how fond they were of a simple human, that they treated his death with such dignity. "Which one of you is VT?"

The goblin woman looked up from the cup of tea in her long, spidery hands. "I am. Vena Tetler."

Chris nodded. "RG?"

"Me," said the vampire. "Ron."

Chris eyed the twins. "I'm going to hazard you two are 'SS'."

The twins nodded.

"All right. Then who is 'SB' and why is he not here?"

His brows went up when everyone in the room jumped. Vena shook her head slowly back and forth. "We didn't know he was coming. He's usually too busy."

"This says he was expected."

"Then he may have come and gone before the rest of us."

Chris looked. "You would know, brownie. Did he drop by?"

Chez shrugged. "Mr. B comes and goes as he pleases. Sometimes I know it, sometimes I don't."

"What did I say before?" Chris snapped, annoyed. "I told you to tell me everything. Everything is not the same as 'almost everything.' It is slightly more than very important to tell me that Gent was known to have a visitor who came and went as he pleased, sometimes observed, sometimes not. Would anyone like to tell me why this B is allowed such free reign when it's obvious to me you're not allowed to use magic on the premises? And while you're explaining things to me, explain that."

The twins looked contrite. Splish spoke up first. "We're not really supposed to talk about him."

Splash nodded and picked up where her sister stopped. "He's not really a friend of Gent's. More, he gets - got - Gent to find things for him. Sometimes when Gent obtained a particular book, he'd purchase it. That's how Gent could afford all this." She waved her hand around the lavish room. "And more books."

Doug interrupted. "Can I ask why a human so avidly collected magic books when he had no interest in practicing the arts?"

Chez gave a long, tired sigh. "His wife was a witch. She was actually the one who started collecting grimoires, but she died when a spell went wrong one night. After that, Gent banned magic but started collecting the books."

"I see," Chris said quietly. "Where can I find this Mr. B? A full name would be helpful as well."

Ron started laughing. "Sure man - only don't let him kill us, yeah? We're not really supposed to know he comes by."

"I'll do my best," Chris said, growing annoyed. "Now who is Mr. B and where can I find him?"

Chez sighed. "His name is Sable Brennus - and I'm sure that's all you need to find him."

Chris swore.

*~*~*~*

"So…how exactly does one ask a demon if he committed murder?" Douglas asked as they stood just outside the Tantalus, the most impressive of the three luxury hotels owned by Sable Brennus. "Well, a particular murder."

Chris muttered a few curses as they stepped under the overhang and shook out his umbrella, which really hadn't succeeded in keeping him from a soaking - there was simply too much rain. "From a distance?" he asked sourly. "How do I get caught up in these things?"

Douglas looked around the lobby as they entered, eyes wide behind his glasses as he took in the large fountain at the center, the profusion of smaller fountains and lush plants, the glittering guests and sharp-looking employees. "Demons don't usually acquire this much affluence. And is all of the staff night creatures?"

"Seeing as at least half the guests are night dwellers, it only makes sense. And no, normal demons aren't usually quite this affluent." Chris' demeanor soured further. "Brennus, however, is a demon lord. The city and land for several miles around is his territory. It's bordered on three sides - by another demon to the west and south, a werewolf pack to the north and a vampire clan to the east."

"Hmm…" Douglas shifted restlessly. If he'd been in his true form, his wings would have flapped agitatedly on his back. "So this is probably a bad idea?"

Chris snorted. "To say the least. But he fits the murder, assuming we can deduce a motive. If he's half so old as I think he is, then he's looking for a cover, which would explain his interest in the books Gent collected."

"A cover?" Doug's brows furrowed in confusion. "Oh. You mean a consort." He blinked. "I didn't even think about that."

"He's powerful, wealthy, reclusive and buys obscure magic books from a human," Chris said dryly. "I'm going to hazard he's growing desperate for stalling mechanisms before staying here without a consort becomes impossible." He ran his fingers through his wet, messy hair. "Now let's quit chatting and stalling and get this over with."

But inside he slowed to a halt. "Stay down here, Doug. It's going to take more than smiles and charm to get in to see him and I don't want both of us getting flayed alive by an annoyed demon."

"And how am I supposed to know if things go well or not?"

"If all goes well, I'll come downstairs healthy and alive." Chris rolled his eyes, lips twisting in a reluctant smile. "If they don't go well, I'll have more in common with my father than ever."

Doug smothered a laugh. "Gotcha, boss. Until then?"

"Poke around, see if there aren't any interesting rumors about our friend Brennus."

"Will do."

Nodding, more to himself than Doug, Chris turned on his heel and climbed the stairs from the lobby to the second floor, turning down hallways until he found an empty one.

And immediately dropped completely out of sight. Invisible, intangible, he backtracked to the elevators and rode up as far as he could. On the forty-fifth floor, he switched to the stairs, passing through the door and climbing easily until they stopped at the fiftieth floor.

Passing through, he found himself in a hallway far more subdued than the lavish red and gold of downstairs. Here everything was blue and silver-gray, with dark plants and near-black wood for accents. Soft lights lit the hallway in which he stood, and Chris felt like he was in the middle of the rain clouds still soaking the city outside. From the double doors behind him he could just barely hear a woman talking rapidly on the phone - probably a secretary or something, as this had the feel of an office.

Another set of dark double doors was before him, bare of even so much as a nameplate - or doorknobs.

Good thing he didn't need them.

Chris passed through the doors with ease, faintly feeling the tingling of wards that could not affect something that was not really there.

His limited abilities weren't good for much, but they were good for enough.

Rain pounded against the wide expanse of windows that looked down over the city below, a steady drumming that should have been soothing but instead only echoed the pounding of Chris' heart.

He was a simple detective; in the five years since he'd turned solo his biggest case involved a pup from a werewolf pack - and that had been a simple matter of finding something stolen. His encounters with demons had been limited to passing them in the street. Demons, werewolves and most vampires simply didn't mingle with lesser night creatures.

It wasn't often someone dared accuse a demon of murder, except in jest. Demons could do whatever the hell they wanted. Few would dare to try, and less than that would succeed.

There was clearly someone in the large chair behind the massive desk straight ahead, but he was turned away, watching the rain-drenched city.

But as Chris stepped closer, the chair spun around. "Someone is here."

And Chris was so shaken by that voice, so startled by what he saw, that he forgot to hold his ghostly form.

The demons he'd glimpsed from time to time had never caught his eye. They'd been handsome, interesting, but never half so beautiful as the one sitting so calmly behind a desk. And it shouldn't surprise him, because if vampires used beauty to catch prey then why not demons? But no vampire - and those he saw plenty of - had ever been so…captivating. Stern looking, a solemn sort of beauty seen only in paintings. And his eyes echoed the clouds outside, a gray that was a mix of dark and light, framed by thick, black curls. And Chris distantly recalled his name was Sable, and wondered if his hair felt as soft as that.

Chris' mother loved concerts, loved to sing. All her chants and prayers were sung as clear and pure as a bell, and thanks to her obsession with song Chris had heard more famous singers by the time he was thirteen than most people saw in a lifetime. But no voice ever affected him the way this one did. Three simple words and his heart pounded faster than ever, in his throat, and he ached to hear it again.

Sable obliged, curiosity coloring the rough velvet timbre of his voice. "And who might you be, beautiful? An early dinner?" Slowly he rose to his feet, walking around the desk and toward Chris.

The word dinner restored some of Chris' senses, and he fought the urge to take several steps back as he forced his mind to the case. "I've come about Gent."

"Gent?" Sable paused. "Why are you here about Gent?"

Chris began to feel more stable as his job reasserted itself in his mind, though the demon's voice took effort to ignore. "Someone ate him. My investigations have led me to believe you were the last person to see him."

Sable frowned. "I was the last to see him. Or at least what was left of him. What are you, some sort of detective?"

"Yes. Chez, Gent's servant, asked me to investigate his death."

Sable laughed, and Chris fought the urge to shiver. He took a step back as Sable reached him. "So you've come here to accuse me of his murder?"

"Yes."

"That's a pity."

Chris realized the door was in his way when he hit it and stifled a curse. He narrowed his eyes up at the demon looming over him. This wasn't going exactly as he'd planned. "Do you have an alibi? A good excuse? You said he was dead when you saw him - any idea what happened?"

"Of course I know what happened. I warned him to be careful, but humans will do as they please."

Losing patience, seriously…annoyed, yes annoyed, with the demon's proximity, Chris reached out to shove him away--

--And instead found himself even more thoroughly pressed back against the door. "Let me go."

"You invaded my office, accused me of murder and now just tried to assault me--"

Chris snorted.

"--And you think I should let you go?" Sable laughed, eyes turning dark, heated, when Chris failed to repress a shiver. "Sorry, beautiful. You wandered in here - accept the consequences."

Chris fought to ignore him. "How did Gent die? What did you do?"

"Me? I did nothing except take the book away. Feed it too many times and bad, bad things begin to happen."

"Feed…" Chris blinked. "What are you talking about? Books don't eat!"

"Now, now, beautiful. Only so many questions are free and you've reached your limit."

Chris muttered a curse about losing his wits and dropped to his intangible form.

--Then realized it wasn't working. "Shit!"

Sable laughed again, hand tightening on Chris' wrists where he had them pressed up against the door. "Fascinating. How is it you're able to do that? Only ghosts are capable of such things."

"None of your business," Chris muttered. "How is it you're able to hold me anyway?"

"One does not live to be four hundred and ninety-six without picking up a few tricks, beautiful"

"Stop calling me that!"

Sable laughed, then ducked his head to chuckle in Chris' ear. "Why? Gold hair, eyes like an angry sea, skin damp with rain…you are quite, quite lovely." His tongue flicked out to lap at Chris' still-drying skin.

"Let me go!"

"For a price, beautiful. And if you pay generously enough, perhaps I'll tell you what happened to Gent as well."

Chris said nothing, merely jerked his head away from the teeth at his ear, shivering and hating himself for it. "Let me go," he repeated mutinously.

"Never," Sable replied, and then he was kissing him and Chris wished suddenly that he'd ignored the damn phone just like he'd wanted and not let Douglas go ahead and answer it.

Because Sable's lips were soft and his mouth hot, flavored with fine whiskey and something else, tangy and sharp, and Chris thought dizzily that if magic had a flavor that would be it. And then he realized he was free, or maybe caught more than ever, because Sable's hair was as soft as his namesake implied and the hands stroking him felt more right and welcome than he was comfortable admitting.

He broke away; desperate for air and a clear head - though looking up into storm-cloud eyes he thought perhaps the latter was a thing of the past. But his wits gathered enough that he was able to go intangible and slip away, though stupidly he went forward rather than back, meaning he had nowhere but deeper into the room to go.

Sable licked his lips. "I had no idea spook detectives were among the highly edible."

Chris got pissed. "I am not a spook detective; why the hell does everyone call me that? Damnation, all I wanted to do was determine a cause of murder. Stay over there so I can think."

Sable approached. "Gent was eaten by a book. A very hungry, very dangerous book that I told him not to mess with. He ignored me and obtained it anyway. I asked him to wait until I arrived to examine it but…" He shrugged. "Humans will do as they please."

Chris attempted to head toward the doors again, but realized he was being herded toward the eastern-most wall. "What manner of book eats people?"

"A very hungry one. And I shouldn't get too close to those bookcases, beautiful, else you'll get nipped."

Chris glowered. "No, that's if I get too close to you."

Sable threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, but I won't take a fatal bite. That book will. It can only be opened by demons, as it was a very angry, very hungry demon from which the book was made. It devours whoever else tries to touch it."

Chris stayed away from the bookcases, still trying to make for the door. "Fine. Case closed. Thank you for your time, have a nice day." He dropped to invisibility and barely resisted the urge to run.

Sable caught him anyway, and Chris resumed his normal form. "No fair being able to do that."

For answer, Sable simply kissed him dizzy again, hard and deep, bruising his lips.

Chris was torn between wanting it to stop and wanting it to continue.

"Give me a name, beautiful," Sable murmured. "And I'll let you go for a little while."

"You'll let me go name or no name," Chris protested, but it was a weak one.

Sable laughed, fingers seeking and finding the flesh beneath Chris' damp clothes. "So are you saying you want to stay?"

"Damn it," Chris managed, twisting away - though only because Sable let him. "Christian," he bit out. "Christian White."

Sable reached out and gripped his chin, dragging him close for one more kiss. "A pleasure to meet you, Christian." He let Chris go. "You may call me Sable."

Chris said nothing, merely turned and fled. Sable's voice caught him at the door. "I'm letting you go for now, Christian. But the next time you enter my hotel, I plan to keep you."

Unable to form a reply, Chris dropped to invisibility and escaped.

Downstairs, he ignored Douglas' questions until they were nearly back to the apartment where Chez and the late Gent's friends waited. "So what happened, boss? Did you get an answer?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Chris said tightly. "Not until I reach the liquor cabinet back at the office."

Douglas' eyebrows hit his hairline at that.. "Demon scare you that bad?"

"Something like that," Chris muttered in reply.