Nothing Interesting Happens In This Heroic Interlude
Nothing Interesting Happens In This Heroic Interlude
The lights in the tavern were dimmed. Only a few guttering candles provided illumination, and the shadows danced on the wall as the wind screamed outside. The full moon was blood-red in the sky, peeking out from behind wispy clouds. The blue moon hid behind its sibling. A strange and arcane occult conjunction was occurring. It was a double eclipse; a time of great and present malignancy.
"It was a dark and stormy night," began the barman. The balding man leant on the counter, polishing a glass as he recounted a tale to the heroes within his establishment. "I was…"
Montmorency narrowed her eyes. "Which night? Be more precise," she demanded, hands wrapped around her drink.
"Well… uh, it was last Firesday."
"It wasn't that stormy," she pointed out. "I mean, yes, certainly it rained a bit. But I wouldn't call it stormy. And the red moon was almost full."
"Look, just hush! I want to hear the story," Danny said, hugging his knees.
"I'm just saying…"
"Eet was not zat stormy, oui," agreed Tabitha, without looking up from her book. "Zough ze weazer was poor."
"I don't know," Kirche said. "I mean, it was pretty windy."
"But not storm-levels of wind," Montmorency insisted.
The students had been given leave of absence from the Academy of Magic on the grounds that some madman was probably going to try to summon some unholy horror and the Regency Council had requested that they be ready to thwart whatever happened. With the murderous Overlady of the North still free and Albion cast into chaos and strange Abyssal rifts opening up, no one was safe. Lunar eclipses empowered the forces of wickedness and so the champions of righteousness should be prepared to strike them down.
Surprisingly, however, things were being very quiet. For all that they'd tracked down and killed all the bandits who had taken up residence in the old temple to a forgotten god built next to a statue to a fish-god and on top a cairn containing a pre-Brimiric warlord's tomb, they hadn't actually found anything. Montmorency had complained about how it seemed like every hillock in the fens near Amstrelldamme was covered in cursed ritual sites, but she said that sort of thing a lot.
Anyway, they had pillaged some of the ancient cairns and taken the tarnished grave-gold and then slain the undead horrors that had come to thwart the desecration of their unholy tombs, so she'd cheered up a bit.
"Look, are you going to stop blathering on and let me finish my story?" the barkeeper said irritably, as he polished a mug. He was twitching faintly, and from his big red nose he looked like he might have been his own best customer.
"Of course, innkeeper," Guiche said amicably. "I apologise with a full-heart for my companions' behaviour."
The man nodded. "Thank'e kindly. Now, it was a dark and," he glared at Monmon, "rainy night. I was heading to the old cemetery built on top of the orcish sacred lands, to lay flowers for my father who died mysteriously twenty years ago. I was just passing the Tree of Suicides where Rikkert the Necromancer killed himself after the battle of the Fens when…"
"That sounds implausible," Montmorency said.
Kirche poked her. "Stop that!"
"What? No one would build a cemetery on top of orcish sacred lands. No one wants orcish zombies. Or angry alive orcs. And another thing…" she began, before Kirche clipped her over the back of the head.
"When a carriage clattered past, travelling at full speed," the innkeeper continued desperately. "And who did I see but Mr Slager the butcher, Miss Bakker the baker and Miss Kandelaar-Maker the candlestick maker in the carriage? They were all wearing full black robes, too! Covered in evil-like writing!"
"Gosh!" Danny said. "I bet something's happening! Has anyone been kidnapped recently?"
The innkeeper sucked in air between his teeth. "Now, it's funny you mention that," he said, "but I heard that Young Rikkert and Elsabeth went missing yesterday. He's the most handsome young man and she's the most beautiful young lady from all around."
Kirche's ears perked up at the mention of 'handsome young man'. "Well, that sounds just dreadful," she said thoughtfully, stroking her chin. "And we do have separate rooms here…"
"Huh?" Danny said.
"Just thinking out loud. But," Kirche continued, "I think this might be a suspicious ritual! Possibly involving human sacrifice of some handsome young man! Oh, and a girl too. Thank you very much, innskeeper! Do you have a map to this place?"
"I think I have something around the place," the fat man said, ambling off.
"Kirche," Montmorency hissed. "What are you doing?"
"Monmon," Guiche said, laying a hand on hers. "Of course we should investigate it. That's why the Academy gave us time off, and a bloody sacrifice on the night of the lunar eclipse is something we should stop."
"We certainly shouldn't," Montmorency objected.
"It's all right to be sca-"
"I'm not scared! I just think he's a liar."
The others stared at her.
"What?" Danny asked.
"Oh, come on. That story was ridiculously overblown. I don't believe it for a second."
"Look," Kirche said wearily, "just for once, we're not doing this for money."
"Of course you aren't! Firstly, you're disgusting. Secondly, in a backwater fen like this? How nubile – and I can't believe I'm saying this – can the young men actually be? They probably stink of brackish water and dead frogs."
"Dead frogs? But we're not that close to Gallia," Kirche said in confusion. She sighed. "I suppose you're right, but, still, no one wants some kind of crazy cult summoning something dark and malevolent."
"I'm not saying you can't have 'fun' stamping around a bog," Montmorency said, in a tone that suggested that was exactly what she was saying. "It's just I'm not going and getting wet in such a… a contrived situation. If anything, investigating this inn is more likely to be profitable… uh, heroic for us. There are ghost stories about it. And I read rumours that imps have been seen in the countryside around here, so there may be a gateway to the Abyss concealed somewhere nearby."
"Well," Guiche said, with a sigh. "If it is your wish, my rose, I will stay with you. What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't stay here to keep you safe?"
The girl smiled. "Thank you," she said. "Now…"
"Non. I am going. Zere was no mention of a ghost when we choze to stay 'ere," Tabitha said with a mild look of disquiet on her face, showing unusual amounts of emotion. "I will go. Zis place, if it is 'aunted I will not stay 'ere."
Kirche pulled a face. "But you know I hate splitting the party," she complained.
"Last week you ran off on your own to investigate a monastery," Monmon said harshly. "And were out all night."
"I had to inspect them for signs that they were demonic cultists!" Kirche said, sounding hurt. "Father taught me how to check nuns for signs that they were in league with the forces of Darkness. Very similar techniques work for monks."
"Oh, really?" Danny asked enthusiastically. "Can you show me?"
"It's all about knowing where to look for hidden brands," Kirche said wisely. "Who knows what demonic sigils or twistings of the flesh might be hidden under a cassock? Or what vile and lewd texts they might have in their bedchambers?"
"You're disgusting," Montmorency mumbled.
"Why?" Tabitha asked, frowning.
"… we'll explain when you're older, Tabby," Kirche said with a sigh. "In fact, you might as well get Sylphid ready. We'll go after the cult, while Mons and Guiche look for ghosts here."
Tabitha looked over at the two of them. "Better you zan me," she said earnestly.
But for all her protests, Montmorency didn't seem to be very interested in investigating the inn for any signs of ghosts. After a perfunctory sweep where she didn't even comment acerbically on Guiche's heroic fight with a medium-sized rat that had got into the kitchens, she returned to her room, bidding him a rather firm "Good night".
That rather ruined the evening for him. He had been looking forwards to going around the inn and asking everyone who would speak to him whether they had seen anything unusual. His friends didn't seem to get why he did that, and never grasped his explanations that he was a people person who liked meeting strangers and that on top of that, protecting commoners fulfilled the noble traditions of the Gramont family. But his worry about Montmorency's uncustomary behaviour gnawed at him.
So he said a mock-weary goodnight to the innkeeper, went to his bedroom, and locked the door behind him. Then he popped open the shutters, eased his way out around the edge of the building, and with a muttered incantation undid Montmorency's latch.
"Guiche!" she hissed at him as he slid in, closing the shutters behind him. It was dimly lit in her room, with just a single candle casting light. Despite the darkness, he could tell that she had been crying. She was dressed in her nightclothes, and there were several wet handkerchiefs scattered on her bed. It smelt strongly of her perfume. "What are you doing in here? Get out!"
"Monmon," he said. "Come on. I'm worried about you and…"
"I'm worried about the fact you're in a lady's bedroom!" she snapped back in a furious whisper. The shadows danced across her face. "Just go!"
"Hey, Monmon," Guiche said. He was careful to sit not to close to her on the bed – and yet also not too far away. Also, it was fairly important not to sit on the drenched handkerchiefs. "Is something… wrong?"
"I'm fine," she said. "You're not! You shouldn't be here!"
"You don't sound fine."
"I am!" She whirled to glare at him, blue eyes flashing. "Can't you believe a lady?"
Leaning back on the bed, Guiche looked up at the ceiling. "You've been ill-humoured for a while."
"It's a feminine issue," Montmorency snapped.
"I don't think it is," he continued. "It's to do with that letter, isn't it?"
The girl froze up, skin paling beneath her spattering of summer freckles. "Can't you believe me when I say I'm fine?" she almost pleaded.
"Monmon," Guiche said, shoulders slumping. "Is it… a family thing? They've arranged a marriage for you, haven't they?"
"You knew." The words came out as a squeak.
"Yes," he admitted. "We've been going around with each other for a while and… I didn't want to pry or know, but my eldest brother noticed and he asked some questions because he wanted to help. I mean, we've always been close and he… and… well. Some of the things came out." His hands screwed up in the bed sheets. "And I was sure we'd have more time and that… that they'd wait until after we graduated, at least."
"I thought that too," Montmorency whispered. "I thought we'd have a year or two. I'd calculated everything. With our current income, it was going to work. I was going to have time. And we… we could…" she bit her lip, "… I'd planned everything out. But… but… my father is a drunk. And can't keep away from the card tables." The last words came out as a whisper. "We'd be better off if his liver gave out now."
"Don't say that!"
"It's true!" She whirled on him, fresh tears streaking their way down her cheeks. "He's drinking himself to death and no one can stop him, but in the meantime he thinks he can win back the money gambling and he can't! He's going to die either way, but the longer he lasts, the more he'll beggar us!"
Guiche massaged his temples. "Can't you get a priest to testify that he's not in his right mind and can't borrow?"
"Oh! Let me tell you about priests!" Montmorency laughed bitterly. "Oh yes, there's a priest. And he tells my father that everything is forgiven. His confessor swears that he's in his right mind! That man dresses far too well and his pockets are always full!"
Hunching over, Guiche sighed. "Monmon…" he began.
"There isn't a way out," she whispered. "There might have been. If Father wasn't a drunk. If my two older brothers hadn't been killed in the war against Pierre the Black. If mother hadn't died having my little sister and my stepmother wasn't so greedy. But there's no way out." She glared at him fiercely. "It just drives me mad when utter… utter bastards from the high nobility call me 'grasping' or 'selfish'. How dare they? How dare they? It's easy to not care about money when you never have to worry about it!"
"We can stop this!" he blurted out. "If you'd just said… but we can still stop this! We're heroes! We've saved the country! We've stopped demons and necromancers and orcs and… and… Monmon, my rose, a mere moneylender or two is no—"
Montmorency leaned in, placing her finger on his lips. "Oh, Guiche," she said, her tone a peculiar mix of patronising and fondness. "You're such an innocent sometimes." She blotted at her eyes with an already-soaked handkerchief. "It's very attractive, even if it's a blooming nuisance when you insist on going and helping out random commoners for tiny rewards." She leant in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for everything. I suppose we really should have listened to Kirche. Think of all the fun we could have had."
He swallowed, Adam's apple bouncing. "Uh…" he said dumbly.
She gave a weak smile. "For such a flirt, you're remarkably blind sometimes," she said. "You're probably going to make some heiress very happy someday. I wish it would have been me, but… but that's not an option now."
"No, really," he said, trying to focus. This close, the scent of her perfume was overpowering and he was finding it hard to think. "We can stop this! We… we can appeal to the queen! To the Council! We've served them both! The queen made us chevaliers! If you don't want to get married, you can—"
"Do what?" She rested her head on his shoulders. "Dishonour my family by breaking off a marriage? Leave them to penury? My father is… is a drunkard, but he's still my father. He wasn't like this when… when my brothers were alive. If I don't get married… I have to. I tried to avoid it honourably, but I failed."
There was a long, painful silence. Guiche considered if there was anything – anything at all – he could say.
"Do… do you know when they're planning it?" he tried.
"Probably by the end of next year," Montmorency said. "I don't even know who they're going to pick." She grimaced. "And that'll be that for me. I doubt I'll be allowed to keep doing this. Not until he's got an heir and a spare from me," she said with disgust.
"Stop talking about yourself like that. Like you're just a thing," Guiche said, feeling faint. "Monmon, you're… you're the smartest person I know! And you're our healer! And you outbarter merchants all the time! There has to be something I… we can do!"
"Such an innocent. I am just a thing. I'm something to be married off to save my family from the consequences of the actions of my idiot of a father," she whispered. "What kind of proper lady haggles like a merchant, anyway?" Twisting, she pinched his cheek. "You're a boy," she said. "You get to go chasing after heiresses, and you get to win them. As a prize. Lucky you. You get money and on top of that, you get a wife. Girls don't get the same choice. I'm the prize for someone who's willing to take on my family's debts in return for a title. Things aren't fair – and you benefit from that."
"But…" Guiche said, his stomach sinking. "But it's not my fault! You know I would propose, Monmon! I would! I lo—"
"Not a word more." Monmon paused. "It's not your fault, no," she sighed. "But you still benefit from it. Founder. I'm… I'm so flipping jealous of Kirche sometimes. She gets to be a girl, but gets all the benefits of being male. It'd almost be worth being a Germanian if I got to do what she does."
Frowning, Guiche tried to focus in the wavering candle-light. "Are you really jealous of Kirche?" he asked.
"Yes," she admitted. "I mean, if I'd taken her advice, the two of us could have…" she trailed off, blushing. "Wait. Why am I telling you this? And why did I tell you that I'm jealous of Kirche?"
"I don't know," Guiche said slowly. "Did I just almost propose?"
"Well, you are wearing perfume. I don't even know why you'd do that."
"… but I thought that was your perfume."
There was a long and meaningful silence.
"It… hmm." Montmorency coiled one lock of hair around her finger, twirling it as she sniffed. "I think there's certainly some perfume in it, disguising it. My tongue feels numb, so that rules out Quickmatch or Silverflower. I wonder if I get my alchemists' kit out, I can see if…" she tried to rise, and found that her seat was much more comfortable. "Hmm. Unusual lethargy."
"No, I can get up," Guiche said, stretching. He yawned. "It is late. And… oh wait, no, I want to sit down too."
"Yes, you're heavier than me," Monmon said, sounding distracted. "That would match my expectation that anything like that would hit me harder."
"Why are we just sitting here?" Guiche asked, swaying from side to side. "We know we're breathing in some alchemical reagent."
"Good point. There's a good chance there's a distracting element in it which means we can't focus, which combined with the numbness in my tongue… aha! I know what it is!" she said brightly, albeit slurring slightly. "It's aerosolised Draught of Swift Repose! It uses perfume-maker techniques to spray the potion in a breathable form and… oh, poo, we've been inha—"
"Montmorency! Mind your language!" Guiche said. "Now, what was that about inha—"
The innkeeper pushed open the door. The two heroes were sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep. Montmorency was snoring.
"See, mistress!" he said to his companion. "Your plan worked! They never even realised what was going on! They just sat here, inha—"
He staggered, collapsed and fell over.
The woman behind him pinched her brow. "It's so hard to find bad help on the surface," she muttered to herself. "I told him to drink the damn antipotion." Putting her hands on her hips, she glared down at Montmorency and Guiche. "I'm going to have to carry you off myself," she grumbled.
The two heroes and the innkeeper snored at her.
Shaking out her reddish-blonde hair, she permitted herself a brief gloat before she began dragging off the bodies.
Guiche stirred. His head was aching, and his mouth felt bone dry. His eyelids felt heavy and sticky, like they were made of… of something that was heavy and sticky. Glue-covered lead, maybe. What had happened? He didn't think he'd been so foolish again as to try to outdrink Kirche.
No, wait. He groaned. There had been… something with Montmorency. She'd been upset for some reason. And… and something about a potion?
"Okay, people, make sure you've got the lighting in place! Where's the make-up team? I need the adoring extras ready to go on queue! Ts'amahantha, how's the shot set up?"
"It's looking malicious, darling. Just malicious!"
"Wicked!"
Guiche cracked open an eyelid. The light was decidedly red, and from the blasted cyclopean landscape full of towering monoliths and ruined architecture of long-dead eras, certain conclusions could be made. These conclusions were only reinforced by the fact that the hordes of hell itself surrounded him, engaging in vile and abhorrent activities which for some reason involved moving around large mirrored discs and placing candles in strategic locations.
"Blast it," he muttered. "I'm in the Abyss again." He tried to move, and found that he was tied to his quite comfortable chair. "Damn."
"Oh! He's awake!" A demoness who looked nearly human save for her ram's horns swept up to him. She wore some strange oriental robe in a deep red, combined with an obsidian tiara. "Dark greetings to you, Guiche de Gramont. I must apologise for you waking up right now. Things aren't quite ready yet, so you're just going to need to wait until the scene is prepared."
"I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, ma'am," Guiche said. There was no reason to be rude now, not when he was tied to a chair and didn't have his wand. "You are?"
"My apologies. You may call me Izah'belya, princess of the Abyss and daughter of the Queen of the Succubae. I had you captured. Soon you will see—"
"I'd just like to make one objection, if you don't mind," Guiche said politely. "I don't actually want to be sacrificed to some dark god."
Izah'belya blinked. "I'm sorry?" she said. "You seem to be under some misapprehensions as to my intent."
Guiche swallowed. He looked the demon up and down. She was certainly attractive in a rather lush, full-bodied way, with tanned skin, reddish blonde hair and rather Germanian-looking features. "That's a bit fast," he said quickly, voice rising in pitch. "I'd rather not… I mean, I don't even know you and… surely there should be some level of courtship and… and… and if it's all the same to you, I quite like my soul and I don't want you to eat it."
The woman chuckled, a warm and surprisingly human sound. "You're sweet," she said. That did not reassure him. She might be talking about his flavour. "Actually, I needed your presence for my journals. That's why I went to such lengths to lure you out to a place where my servants could capture you."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm launching a new journal, and your presence here gives me an exclusive. I'm thinking an interview, a full-page spread, a report, you modelling underwear…"
"I don't follow."
"Well, you see, with the success of my new villainous range which trials Oriental-Occidental fusion in garment styles – which is seeing such great success in Albion, I'll have you know – I realised that I were lacking the market coverage in less conventional areas. By diversifying my portfolio and investing in nonstandard operations, I'll be able to take advantage of the novelty factor and greatly expand my media presence in multiple sectors!"
Guiche understood not the black words of the Abyss this mad demon was babbling. "I'm not selling my soul," he said, on the grounds that this was always a Good thing to say to a demon.
Izah'belya massaged her temples. "Look, I'll dumb it down for you since you're busy living up to the dumb blond stereotype," she said.
"You're blonde too."
"… not the point. You are my captive. You will do what I want. And that means all the hordes of the Abyss will see this."
Ah. That was back on more understandable territory. "You won't get away with this, you fiend!" Guiche exclaimed. "I'll escape! And rescue Monmon too!"
Izah'belya shrugged. "Honestly, I don't care about her. Her media presence is slim. An interview with her isn't worth much, and she's not a valuable trophy hostage. If you cooperate fully and waive all claims to the intellectual property therein, I'll release her unharmed."
Guiche flinched. His heart lurched, as he thought of Montmorency – so vulnerable, innocent and kind. He was aware that this was somewhat of an idealisation, but she was at least theoretically capable of being vulnerable, innocent and kind. He had to keep her safe. "Unharmed," he said, gritting his teeth. "You'll release her unharmed, in a safe location back in the real world, of my choice. And you won't do anything like… I don't know, strap gunpowder to her and say 'ah ha ha, I didn't harm her when I released her' or cunning demonic tricks like that!"
The fact that if he played for time, Kirche and Tabitha would probably show up was also a not-inconsiderable factor contributing to his decision.
"… that's not really a cunning trick," Izah'belya said sniffily. "I mean, if I was going to do that sort of thing, I'd probably… wait, no, we're getting distracted here."
"I swear I shall comply," Guiche said, "for her safety. This I vow."
"Well, that's uncommonly polite of you."
Guiche shrugged as best he could when he was tied to a chair. "Common manners cost very little, and as a gentleman and a noble, it behoves me to be polite to a lady such as yourself, and doubly so a beautiful one. Even if she should happen to be a dastardly succubus with no-doubt malign intentions. The sharpness of your thorns does not detract from the grace and elegance of your petals."
"Stop, stop, you're flattering me! You'll make me blush!" Izah'belya paused. "Actually, no, what am I saying? If you feel the need to contribute with flattery, please do. But since you're going to be cooperative, would you mind trying on some outfits? It'll make it much faster for everyone if we don't have to drug you every time we want to change your get-up."
"I won't let you get away with this!" Guiche shouted, raising his very shiny and utterly blunt sword.
"Malicious, just malicious darling!" the artist said, her six arms working with tremendous speed. "Hold that pose! And Lady Montmorency, could you please look a little more like a delicate wilting blossom captured by the supreme forces of darkness and a little less… what's the word? Furious? Irate? Murderous? Yes, probably murderous."
Montmorency stared with hate-filled eyes that promised wrathful vengeance on the demonic artist. Clad in a dress that somehow managed to imply many things without actually revealing them, she was tied to a sacrificial altar playing – as Izah'belya said – the role of the pure innocent maiden that the hero had rushed in to rescue only to be defeated by the forces of Evil. She had been gagged, on the grounds that she was being hatefully mean to the artist, who wasn't paid enough to deal with people like Montmorency.
"Izah'belya! We've got a problem! The blond one just looks angry," called out Ts'amahantha.
"No he doesn't."
"No, not the hot blond one, the other one."
Izah'belya's brow furrowed as she looked at the painting. "We can fix it in post," she said, coming to a quick decision. "Just inkbrush it out at the same time as you're removing the blemishes. Of which she has a great many."
"Got it."
Montmorency's glare intensified at that remark, and she made noises that sounded a lot like bowdlerised profanities muffled by a gag.
Her hands tucked into the sleeves of her gown, Izah'belya sighed. "And please, Montmorency, looks can't kill. You're not part basilisk. Try to be more like Guiche. Now there's a hero who's entirely reasonable and professional about things. And don't stop posing or you'll ruin the framing! You need to look both intimidated, but also determined to fight to the last against the inevitable triumph of Evil! That's your motivation! How is the outfit, by the way?"
Guiche grimaced. "It's very… snug," he said eventually. Given the sole garments he had been provided were knee high leather boots and tight white demonic underwear, that fact was evident to all the onlookers. He had been given a sword as well, but it was just a prop. His eyes flickered to the black-robed cultists gathering around the entrance.
"I know it's snug! That's what it's made to be. But how does it feel?"
"Well… very comfortable, if you must know," he admitted. "And the boots are a very good fit."
"Really? I thought… wait, no, Good language. So you're pleased with them?"
"I will never be pleased with the works of Evil and—"
"Yes, yes, continue."
"… then, yes, these are probably the best boots I've ever worn. And this… this pair of unmentionables is well-fitting."
"They're also slave-washable," Izah'belya said happily. "Malevolent! I'll have to consider using that quote on the advertising blurbs! Guiche de Gramont says, 'These are probably the best boots I've ever worn'. How does that sound?"
"Dreadful."
"I know!" She gave him a thumbs up. "You're a maleficent model! After this is over, we'll need to talk about future work!"
Guiche tensed his jaw, but said nothing. He was waiting for his chance. With a meaningful nod at Montmorency, he glanced towards the sacrificial knife on the altar she was strapped to. She nodded back, squirming to try to reach it.
"Please don't move," Izah'belya said, sighing. "And no, that sacrificial knife is blunt." She gestured around the room. "This entire set doesn't have a single sharp thing here. And I also made sure your wands are nowhere nearby."
Considering this, Guiche nodded. "I understand," he said. And that was why he waited until Izah'belya approached him with a new outfit before throwing his prop sword in her face and grabbing her.
"I'm a hero," he shouted at Izah'belya's underlings, "so don't think I won't hurt her unless you do exactly what I say! Go on! Untie Montmorency!"
"So much for honour and your oath," the succubus said bitterly as her underlings scattered and screamed. Only the artist stayed, still working on her paintings.
"I saw the black-robed figures with knives by the door! You're planning to break it and sacrifice us!"
"That's because we need a chanting cult for some of the later shots!"
"A likely story!"
"I'm going to give you one chance to let go of me," Izah'belya said, jaw tense. "Just because I happen to be a succubus does not mean I like being grabbed."
"Do you think me fool enough to release a princess of darkness?" Guiche asked. "Go on! Order your servants to free Montmorency!"
And then Guiche found that the succubus princess had a punch like an iron bar. He staggered backwards, wheezing. He worked his jaw, wincing at the pain. Izah'bleya squared up to him, fists raised.
"Why'd you have to go do that?" she chided him. "Now if you know what's bad for you, you'll…"
And then Izah'belya found that Guiche had been heroing for nearly two years and that while his punches might not have been the hardest, they didn't have to be when they were aimed at her chest. She grunted, tears coming to her dark eyes as she clutched at her right side.
"Now we're even," Guiche said grimly.
"No we're not! That was my boob, you asshole! Do you know how much that hurts?"
"Because you're a succubus? Is it your weak spot?"
"Because I'm a woman! Men! You are going to pay for that."
Guiche wisely and pre-emptively moved to protect his groin, which was just as well. With a speed which spoke of many ballet lessons Izah'belya's foot lashed out like a snake. That warning counted for everything because he managed to get his hands around her calf. What should have been a crippling blow suddenly left her in a bind, and he took full advantage of it. Caught off balance, she was helpless to stop him barrelling her down to the ground.
"When I said you were going to let me and Monmon go," he growled, getting his forearm to her throat, "that wasn't a request."
Her legs came up, wrapping around his waist in a steely vice. The unexpectedness of the assault, not helped by the hammer-blow of her demonic aura, forced the air from his lungs and that was enough for her to turn and twist. The next few seconds were confused and moderately painful for both parties, but it ended up with Izah'belya sitting on his chest, pinning his shoulders with her knees. Her gown was split down all the seams and the neckline now reached down to the waist, revealing a nasty-looking bruise forming on the right side of her chest.
"What was it then?" she growled. Something strange was going on with her. While it was traditional for violence against a demon to encourage it to take on its true horrific form, her horns were actually shrinking. "If it wasn't a request, what was it? I'll tell you what it was! It was a little baby crying! What you are going to do is stop ruining my plans for you and…"
Whatever she was going to say next was rudely interrupted when Guiche kneed her in the small of the back. His scrabbling attempts to get free managed to destroy what remained of her dress, but he couldn't worm free from her hold. Somewhere in Guiche's mind he realised that the texts he'd read which talked about how succubae were skilled at wrestling may have been speaking literally.
"Look, I am hitting you with all the aura I have!" Izah'belya snapped. "I know it's weaker than some, but come on! I am literally pinning you with my thighs! You destroyed my gown too, and I liked that gown! Just have the manners to stop fighting back!"
"Never!" Guiche retorted, his resolve hard.
"Give me strength! What do I have to do, take off my bra too? Everything was going according to plan and you are ruining everything!"
"Good!" Guiche tried to spit in her eye and missed. "I would never let you defile me in front of Monmon! My love for her rose outshines your dark power." In the background, Montmorency paused in her attempts to get her hands free, turning bright red and squeaking. "She is the beacon I cling to in this wicked place!"
"Oh no. Oh no. Don't you dare. Don't you dare get true lovey-dovey on me! Ts'amahantha! Fresh picture! I want a blackmail picture! We can remove the lingerie in post! Just get it done before he gets—"
The wall exploded, collapsing onto Ts'amahantha who let out a squeak and expired.
"Ah ha!" pronounced the dashing valiant rogue whose bold figure appeared from the dust. Hair flapping in the breeze, they postured on the rubble. "Vile wrongdoer, your days are at an end! Surrender, or I'll cut you down where you stand through fire and passion!"
"Yeah! We're going to totally stab you a lot!" added a rather shorter, less dashing rogue who looked to be about twelve. "Give us back Guiche! Oh, and Montmorency too!"
The dragon who poked her head through the hole in the wall and started to eat the crushed Ts'amahantha didn't say anything. Neither did the girl sitting on her back with a wand in one hand and a book in the other.
"Oh my," Kirche said, her tone decidedly lascivious. "Guiche, what are you doing?"
"Being beaten up by a succubus who's stronger than me!" he blurted out, trying to get his excuses in first.
"And where did you get those boots? I have to get me a pair like that!"
"Not the time!"
"How the hell did you find me?!" Izah'belya exploded, leaping off Guiche as her wings unfurled. She hung in mid-air, looking for a way out.
"Zeir familiars fetched us," Tabitha said, without looking up from her book.
Twenty-three Minutes Ago
Out in the blasted fens, the light of the blood moon shone down on a foetid landscape. The hulking shape of a dragon loomed out of the darkness, on the edge of the circle of light cast by torches carried by young heroes.
"Ah ha! Take that, foul beast! Oh wait, that's just a trunk." Danny's shoulders slumped. "Kirche," he whined. "There aren't any monsters yet!"
"There might still be monsters," Kirche said.
"The man said there were going to be monsters and there aren't any monsters! Kirche, I'm boooooooored. We're walking in circles! There's nothing out here! Can't we go back to the inn? My feet are wet and so are my breeches and I'm cold!""
"I'm bored too, Danny. But we just have to endure the boring bit so there are monsters and then fun things can happen."
"Mole," said Tabitha, nose still in her book. Very unfairly, she was sitting on her dragon and thus did not have wet feet.
"Tabby, we've been over this," Kirche said wearily, looking up at her. "Moles are not monsters. There's no need to skin them or pull all the blood out of their body or—"
"Non. Ze mole of Guiche, with a frog on its head." Tabitha pointed down, without looking away from her book.
And indeed, there was a mole half-protruding from the ground, with Montmorency's familiar sitting on it.
"Ah ha!" Kirche announced. "Surely this is some kind of message! Perhaps they've found something!"
The frog croaked.
"What's that, Robin?" Kirche said, listening attentively.
The frog ribbited.
"Monmon's been kidnapped?"
Another croak.
"And Guiche has been kidnapped again?"
A ribbit.
"They're being held by a wicked succubus?"
A concluding croak.
"Uh huh, uh huh." Kirche straightened up. "So, yeah. Monmon and Guiche've been kidnapped. Let's go save them."
"Again?" Tabitha said in a bored monotone. "Oh non."
"Yep. Come on, let's head back. Lead the way, Robin," she told Montmorency's familiar, as Guiche's mole leapt up onto Slyphid's back.
"Since when did you speak frog?" Danny asked sceptically.
"Dad taught me."
"Oh, right. Witches do turn him into a frog a lot, so I guess he'd learn their language." Danny sniffed. "I don't see what so many girls see in amphibians."
"Oh, I can think of one reason why you'd want a boyfriend with a very long and flexible tongue," Kirche said, grinning.
Danny looked blank.
Tabitha tilted her head. "Getting pickles out of ze jars?" she suggested.
"Yeah, sure thing, Tabby. Got it in one."
"And so we headed straight here and found the portal to the Abyss which led to your hide-out," Kirche said. "Now surrender, fiend of darkness!"
"Oh, godblessit," Izah'belya muttered. "I completely forgot about the familiars."
"A lot of people do," Kirche said, smirking. "I mean, apart from Tabby's dragon. Everyone remembers her for some reason."
Izah'belya focussed on the blue-haired girl riding the dragon. "Hey, wait a moment. Don't I know you from—"
Tabitha silently drew a line across her throat with her finger. So did her dragon.
Izah'belya swallowed. "—from somewhere? Oh yes. You thwarted my plans in Versailles. We have only met as enemies. Curse your Goodness."
"Yeah," Kirche agreed, "Tabby is good at thwarting the plans of Evil. You go, girl!"
Guiche, limping heavily and rather bruised, had made his way over to Montmorency and started undoing her gag.
"Guards! Guards! Izah'belya called out, falling back. The door slammed open and giant hulking shirtless demons came rushing in.
Tabitha happened to the guards.
"How about we talk?" Izah'belya suggested, a slightly traumatised look in her eyes. She had been close enough to get splattered with demonic ichor and the tattered remnants of her gown were now somehow even more ruined.
"How about you go stick your head up a cow's bottom?" Montmorency interjected, spitting out her gag. "Tabitha. Could you please—"
"Non," Tabitha said, slumped down in among the bodies. A strange and peculiar look of sadness was in her eyes as she stared desolately at one of her poniards, which had broken on the spine of a demon. "Zat was moi favourite."
"… fine," Montmorency said wearily. "Then, Kirche, if you would be so kind, burn that flipping demon to a crisp!"
"Oh, no, you don't want to do that," Izah'belya said quickly.
"I think I do," Kirche said.
"Yes, she really does," Monmon added.
"No, no, you don't want to do that. Because I have something you must know." Izah'belya smiled cruelly. "If only you knew the power of the Abyss. Your father never told you the truth," she said.
"He told me enough," Kirche said. "He told me the best two-hundred and seventeen ways to kill a demon. Honestly, I don't think the Abyss has much power. If it had any 'true power', Good wouldn't keep on winning."
Izah'belya looked vaguely nauseous. "No, I mean… not that truth. Anyway, it's not like you always win! We get a good fifty percent!"
"Then what truth?"
"Kirche," Izah'belya said portentously. "I am your mother."
Kirche frowned. "No you're not. You're my sister."
"Half-sister," Danny said, keeping his wand trained on the succubus. "No real brother or sister has tried to kill us." He paused. "Apart from Lucien once, but he was being mind-controlled and got better once Father punched him out."
"Yes, yes," Kirche said, waving away her brother's pedantry. "Either way, if you're expecting me to shout 'No' loudly, I'm afraid you're out of luck. I could do it if it'd help you feel better, but—"
"I'm your sister?" Izah'belya blurted out. "That's… that's impossible!"
"Look in a mirror. You'll know it to be true," Kirche said, and frowned. "How could you not know?"
"I don't know who my paternal relatives are! Mother never tells us that sort of thing!"
"Then what the hell were you trying to do?"
"Distract you so I could run away, of course! I mean, I could sense we had some blood in common, but I just assumed you had some succubus heritage some way back because of…" she nodded at Kirche's chest, "well, a lot of surface world noble families are related to us."
Kirche chuckled. "Oh dear, no. These babies are one hundred percent natural von Zerbst. Being descended from eastern steppes barbarian princesses does that. You've done nicely from that. No, you're just another one of Dad's bastards."
"There are a lot of them," Danny said wearily. "Remember the half-giant?"
"Oh yes, I cut his head off. Or the ghoul. Burned her to ashes when she tried to eat me. Or the three different half-demons who've tried to steal my soul. All dead, too. Hint. Hint," Kirche said meaningfully, glaring at Izah'belya.
"Hint hint," Danny added. He paused. "The half-dragon was really cute, though."
"Oh yes, she was adorable! Her tail was so fluffy!"
Izah'belya took a deep and somewhat shaky breath. "This… this changes things," she said quietly. "I… are you sure? I'm a von Zerbst bastard?"
"Can we not?" Monmon called out, as Guiche tried to undo her wrists. "This is not the time for family drama and sudden revelations of parentage. Look, just kill her."
"You sound surprised," Kirche said, one eyebrow raised as she firmly ignored Montmorency. "It's blatantly obvious. It always is."
"It's easy to see," Danny contributed, likewise ignoring Monmon. "You've got the right skin colour and your hair is pretty much the same colour as mine. And the features match, too."
"Although the really big clue is that you're clearly smarter than the average demon," Kirche said smugly. "That's a von Zerbst trait."
"What, really?" Izah'belya asked sceptically.
"Our family has spent hundreds of years bordering the de la Vallière family," Kirche said triumphantly. "And we've pillaged their ancestral home almost as many times as they've sacked ours. And our bloodline is still around, despite their recurring attempts to exterminate us."
"Sometimes they try to turn us into werewolves," Danny said brightly. "We've got pretty good at shaking off the infection, though."
"Yeah. I really don't get why they keep on trying that. Why would you want your ancient rivals to be turn into giant furry wolf monsters? Oh well. But seriously, how many other families can say that they've survived – and often beaten – the de la Vallières?"
Izah'belya thought about that, slow realisation dawning in her eyes. "You mean that sixth sense I have for when my sisters try to have me murdered…"
"That's a von Zerbst instinct, that is," Kirche said confidently, folding her arms. "Honed by generations of assassination attempts by one of the wickedest families in the world." She paused. "Some of it may come from the demon side too if your sisters try to murder you on a monthly basis," she conceded generously.
"Gosh. Also, it's more like a biweekly basis."
"There's another von Zerbst trait. You look like you're trying to smuggle a pair of cabbages under your dress," Montmorency contributed helpfully and also rather snidely.
"Montmorency!" Kirche said with mock horror. "Cease such ill-manners!"
"Well, then, kill her and we can get out of here! Your family drama and the fact your mutual father slept with some cheap succubus tart…"
"Excuse me!" Izah'bleya said, mightily offended. "My mother is the Queen of the Succubae and de-facto ruler of Hell, thank you very much! She is not cheap!"
"Oh, my apologies," Montmorency said. "So she's an expensive tart."
"Yes. That's more accurate."
"… you realise that's a bad thing?"
"When did I say I liked my mother?" Izah'belya said, honest confusion on her face.
"Oh, brother… well, sister, I can talk all day about that," Kirche said wearily. "Mine is a weak useless soggy piece of bread who spends all her time fainting, going on pilgrimages, being ill in bed and… well, generally she's a waste of space. Thank goodness I take after Father. I know exactly how you feel! They're just the same!"
"She tries to make me act like a girl," Danny muttered.
"Mine is the soul-eating queen of the Abyss who sets her children against each other, fighting for scraps of power so we're too busy warring against each other to plan a coup against her," Izah'belya said. She crossed her arms. "That's not the same."
"Details, details," Kirche said breezily. "It's the same in spirit."
"Stop arguing and flipping well let me go, you sugar-headed other-flippers!" Montmorency exploded. "Or I will… I will… argh!"
Izah'belya looked blank. "I'm… sorry? What did she say?"
Kirche sighed. "Tristainian women are so repressed. Cool your horses, Mons. Guiche, when are you going to get her free?"
"I can't undo these knots," Guiche called back. "They're done up really tight."
"I know they are!" Monmon shouted. "I'm losing circulation in my arms and legs here! It is not helping my mood!"
"Danny, pass me a knife. Wait, I don't need you to pass me a knife." Kirche pulled one out of her boot.
"They're expensive ropes. Could you please try to untie them?" Izah'belya said, expression pained. "Look, like I said, this changes everything. How about we get off set and have some coffee?"
"She's trying to tempt you!" Monmon wailed. "Stop bonding!"
"She's succeeding. I am tempted," Kirche said bluntly. "I mean, come on! It's well past midnight. I'm tired. Coffee sounds wonderful, thank you."
"My goodness," Kirche said cheerfully, sprawled out on a strange amorphous seat that resembled a stalk-less mushroom. She swirled her mug, and took another sip. "This is marvellous."
"Really? Because it's some of my personal… oh, wait, sorry, I misunderstood you there," Izah'belya said. She had acquired a fresh change of clothing, and sparkled in lavender – even if she winced whenever she moved her right side. Compared to her half-sister, she was rather tense. Perhaps it was because Monmon was sitting in the same room as her, stroking her wand.
"So you're… twenty four?" Kirche asked.
"Nearly twenty five," Izah'belya confirmed.
"Huh. So you weren't even the product of Father cheating on Mother," Kirche said in an utterly bored tone. "I was the product of Father impregnating a wealthy heiress whose family was powerful enough to make him actually marry her."
"I'm still kind of in shock to find I'm Blitzhart von Zerbst's daughter, in all honesty."
"You and about a fifth of the population of the world," Montmorency interjected.
"Look, it wasn't like kidnapping you was anything personal," Izah'belya said wearily.
"Oh no, she's always like that," Kirche shrugged. "Right, Danny?"
"Yes," he agreed. Danny jabbed his finger at Izah'belya. "And you won't get off that easy, even if you're yet another evil half-sister! You kidnapped Guiche! And look how badly beaten he is!"
Guiche shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't been able to put a shirt back on, because of how bruised he was. "She's a lot heavier than she looks. Especially when she's sitting on your chest," he said. "And she punches like a mule."
Tabitha looked up from her book. "Mules do not punch," she said informatively. "Zey keek, because zey are like 'orses."
"Thank you, Tabitha."
"I zought zat you needed to know."
"Yes, Tabitha."
"Mules don't matter!" Danny fumed. "What mattered is that Guiche is so bruised he can't wear a shirt!"
"Are little brothers like that?" Izah'belya asked Kirche softly. "Sorry, I don't have any – and all my half-sisters usually try to murder me."
"Well, you are Evil," Kirche said generously. "So how are things going with you? Me, I'm going to be graduating from the Academy of Magic soon, and… well, you know I'm also a Hero."
"Oh, isn't that one of the prestigious surface-world places?"
"Yes, it's fairly good. I got kicked out of a few Germanian schools for one reason or another…"
"You killed the son of the Emperor in a duel," Danny said flatly.
"That was not my fault! He challenged me and then tried to use a forbidden spell of dark soul-burning flame to win! What was I meant to do, not deflect it back in his face?"
Izah'belya's face had taken on the usual air of faint confusion that tended to afflict people who listened to the deeds of the von Zerbsts for any length of time. "You know, I think this explains so much about my life if this is what my father's side of the family is like," she said.
"That sounds like fun," Kirche said grinning. "Come on, do tell."
"Well, I mean, things have never been quite normal for me. Like, there was that time when I was fifteen when some of my elder sisters put an ancient snake-god in my dorm room to devour me."
"Ah, snake gods," Danny said wisely. "They're never as tough as they think they are."
"You've only killed one," Kirche pointed out. "And it wasn't very powerful."
"Kirche! Don't embarrass me!"
"I lured it down to the alchemy lab and used an illusion to trick it into devouring a cauldron of toxic waste," Izah'belya said proudly. "It melted through five basements."
"Niiiiiiiice," Kirche agreed. "And… uh, I notice Monmon is tapping her foot quite rapidly now."
"Oh? You noticed?" Montmorency said bitterly.
"Yes. I did. I was just ignoring it."
"Well, stop bonding with her and kill her!"
Izah'belya spread her hands. "How about we don't kill me?" she suggested. "Instead I might propose a formal apology from me, and… your clothes are rather ratty and unfashionable, you know. And I'm sure that Guiche and Montmorency could tell you things about how very comfortable my styles are."
Guiche shifted guiltily. "It may be the product of vile demonic depravity but this does fit very well."
"Actually, it's cotton," Izah'belya pointed out. "No demonic depravity was involved. That'd make it too expensive. And Montmorency! Dear sweet Montmorency!"
"Shut it."
"Would you not say that this dress of a poor kidnapped maiden is both figure-flattering and gorgeous to the eye? I'm particularly fond of how it implies certain things about your figure that are not, strictly speaking, true. Now that's quality tailoring."
"I will maim you. With knives."
"Notice how she didn't deny it."
"That is true," Kirche said, stroking her chin. "It does look fantastic on her. Wait one moment, Izzy. Everyone else, team huddle."
The heroes gathered around.
"Okay, I know what you're going to say, but those are very nice clothes," Kirche said quickly. "I think we could do a lot with them."
"She chipped one of my teeth," Guiche muttered.
"Look, I think there's still good in her. I think I can flip her. She's got so much Heroic blood that she's already killed a snake god," Kirche said, a note of desperation in her voice. "I don't want to have to kill her. Sure, she's a bit Evil, but only a bit. And it's not like she really hurt either of you in ways you can't heal."
"Well, I suppose, if we're trying to redeem her…" Guiche said slowly. "That's a noble goal."
"I don't care whether she lives or dies," Tabitha said.
"Great. So that's a yes from me and Guiche, an abstention from Tabby…"
"Well, I suppose, if Guiche doesn't want to kill her yet," Danny said reluctantly.
"Mons?"
"I think you just want to save her because the two of you are getting on unhealthily well," Montmorency accused.
"No, not at all," Kirche said, sounding hurt. "I truly believe she can be saved. But because I've been talking with her, I have noticed she's very rich. So you know, we could always ransom her back to herself."
Montmorency gritted her teeth. She opened her mouth and closed her mouth. "Just let me at her," she whispered after the internal conflict was resolved. "I got taken captive and dressed up in her depraved-yet-comfortable styles. I'll take her for every ecu she has. I'll bargain her down to the bone."
"Great show, Mons."
"Are you sure unleashing Monmon on someone when she's in a mood like this isn't a sin?" Guiche asked, concern in his voice.
"Hey!"
"My rose, I'm just saying that it might be considered cruel and unusual."
"Nah, not against a demon," Kirche confirmed. "Pope Sadius II confirmed that any form of violence against a demon was religiously acceptable."
"Wait," said Guiche. "Didn't he keep his predecessor chained in a basement?"
"Oh, Pope Masochismus VI felt that was good for the purification of the soul. Very holy man, very into penitence. He voluntarily withdrew to contemplate the divine, with the aid of the Scourging Nuns of the Barbed Dove."
"'Ow devoted," Tabitha said, nodding her head.
Montmorency cracked her knuckles. "Oh, she's going to pay for this. Literally. Pay lots and lots. Quite apart from the trauma and the inconvenience of the kidnapping, there's also the fact that my virtue was threatened by proximity to the creatures of the Abyss – which under church law is considered a mortal threat to chastity and so does not require any proof of ill intent – but there's also the fact that she threatened Guiche's virtue too. And then there's time wasted by being kidnapped, she's going to have to pay for that! And…"
"I think she's entering the happy place of money," Kirche said in a stage whisper.
"Shut up, Kirche," Montmorency snapped. "You're coming with me! Just in case she proves… resilient to my demands, I need you to make it very clear that she better value her life highly indeed!" She paused. "Tabitha, you too. Your dragon can threaten to eat her."
And so it was that after much hard bargaining and occasional threats that a succubus would be eaten by a dragon if she didn't do what they said that the brave heroes escaped from the hellish vistas of the Abyss, heavily laden down with treasure and with several new outfits. Kirche burned down the inn as punishment for consorting with Evil and also making them waste their time wading around in a fen, and then they set off, clanking noticeably.
"So, we may not have stopped any great evil plot – even if we did destroy all her pictures of Guiche only in his underwear," she concluded, judiciously not mentioning the master copies hidden in her bags, "but I think we all learned a valuable lesson here."
"That your father will sleep with anything with two legs, even the Queen of the Succubae, ruler of the Abyss?" Montmorency suggested.
"Nah, didn't learn that. I knew that already."
"Zat demon spines can break moi poniard's point?" Tabitha said, shoulders hunched in mourning.
"… well, yes, but…"
"That succubae punch very hard and nearly dislocated my arms, so you shouldn't grapple them?" tried Guiche.
"Yes, that's true. But what, I think, we really learned is that it's possible to solve your problems by talking things out with your foes, rather than resorting to violence," Kirche said.
She was the target of four stares. Tabitha's nose was in her book, so her dragon stared for her.
"That's what Guiche does all the time," Danny said rudely. "You're just happy because you bonded with our evil succubus half-sister."
"And made lots of money and got some great new clothes out of it," Kirche agreed. "This was a brilliant night."
Falling back in the column, Guiche reined his horse in beside Montmorency. The lunar eclipse had passed and so both moons shone down upon them. "Monmon," he began.
"When we were drugged," she said softly. "My memory of the conversation is all woozy. What do you remember of it?"
Guiche thought for a while as they rode. "I don't remember a thing," he said, eventually.
"Are you sure?"
They rode on a little further in silence.
"I could maybe remember some of it. If you wanted me to put some more thought into it," he said, voice low.
"Oh." Her shoulders slumped. "I… I don't know if I want you to," she said, voice cracking. "Did… did you… did you mean what you said there? In… down there. When she was sitting on you? All… wanton and lewd?"
The red moonlight revealed Guiche's blush. "I meant every word," he said quietly. "Monmon, you are my rose – and like the rose, you have lots of thorns. I… I would hold you close for the rest of my life, even if it made me bleed."
"You… you idiot." Her words were barely spoken, more mouthed than anything. "Why would you say that out loud?"
He leaned back on his saddle, wincing from the bruises. "Today, I had a succubus sit on me and try to crush my will so I would stop fighting back," he said, speaking to the open air and not looking at her. "I clung to the thought of you like a drowning man does to floating timber. To the thought that you were right there, watching – and if I did what I desperately wanted to, you would see it all. Because I did want to do what she said. I wanted to do everything she said. I wanted to lay there and go limp. But… you were there. Watching. You're not as pretty as her. You're… you know, not a lust demon. But you're you and what I feel about you… I know the difference between that and what that demon tried to fake."
There was a choked sob to his side. "You idiot. Why… why do you have to feel that now? Why do you have to tell me?"
"Because it's the truth."
Without words, Montmorency spurred her horse on, leaving Guiche trailing behind the others. The moonlight glistened in his tears.
With a sigh and somewhat of a flounce, the demon princess Izah'belya collapsed back into her exceedingly comfy swivel throne behind her desk. From her top-floor office, she could look over Los Diablos whenever she felt like it. She seldom wished to. Quite apart from the thick smogs and smokes that meant that visibility was frequently near-nothing, the general appearance of the aerial view of the city on a good day put her in mind of what happened when a goat ate something that didn't agree with it.
Honestly, if it wasn't for the status she would have situated her head office somewhere a lot more practical and which meant she didn't have a hundred storey elevator ride every morning.
That had certainly been a day. Yes. Urgh. She had far too little coffee in her to deal with this. That was her journal ruined. And then there was that aggravating blonde girl with her damnable stupid ringlets. What kind of… of monster bargained like that? That girl was more penny-pinching than a blessed avarice demon!
Slumping down, Izah'belya let the illusion of hooves fall from her feet, and slipped out of her high heels. And her feet were killing her. This was the price for looking so human that she could slip through most wards against demons and break bindings with force of will. Almost no one in the Abyss could design comfortable shoes, and most farriers baulked at the idea of footwear that didn't involve hammering metal into your foot.
Leaning over, she picked up one of the little bells on her desk and rang it. "Lilly, I need a black coffee and… and many things that are sweet and sugary! Got it?" she spoke into the chiming metal. "And I don't care if it ruins my diet!"
She had tried to find Lilly a job that best made use of her skills, but unfortunately she didn't exactly have many marketable skills in the Abyss. While she gave anything she believed in one hundred and ten percent, one hundred and ten percent of a not very large number was still not very large. And when she'd tried to give her a role managing public relations, she'd run into the problem that Lilly wasn't willing to engage in negative campaigning.
So in the end, after she'd fired her tenth PA this year for general incompetence, attempting to betray her, and being incompetent at betraying her, she'd had a revelation. As she watched the corpse char, she'd realised that at least if she had Lilly do it, she wouldn't have any more inept attempts to murder her.
Placing the bell down, she put her bare feet up on her desk, pouting. After a little bit of brooding, she picked the bell up again. "Also, I need the current genealogical reports on the von Zerbst family and profiles on the currently active family members," she ordered. "I'm pretty sure that blessed hero that just thwarted me was one of them!"
Pulling out the agreements she had signed with each member of the group, she reviewed them while chewing on a lock of hair. Yes, she really had come out the poorer for dealing with them. But that was just a minor irritation. She could afford those losses. Indeed, she'd take them willingly for the truth about her father.
And not just her father. There were two younger succubae with similar features to her, human feet and very underdeveloped horns. Izah'belya was all but sure that they were her full sisters, and she always kept an eye out for them. She knew how hard it was to make your way through life when your horns were barely more than nubs protruding from your skull. Even though modern occultism had conclusively demonstrated that the 'classic' features were just a phenotypical expression of the underlying demonic soul which could express itself to a greater or lesser extent, people still believed the old rubbish that a succubus who could nearly pass as human was 'weak blooded'. Pah!
Blitzhart von Zerbst. Well, well, well. Her father had not only survived her mother once, but had come back for more at least twice. And, from what she understood of the surface, he was still alive. She'd never heard of someone enduring that. So much for 'weak-blooded'. There were demon princes her mother had drained to shrivelled husks. Izah'belya had a pet theory her mother did that by lecturing them about how they were 'too greedy and not lustful enough' and 'weren't dutiful daughters', but that might be just her own personal experience speaking.
That a mere human would not only survive, but come back for more… she shook her head. What an indomitable man. She took silent pride in the strength of her newfound heritage, even if it was tragically Heroic.
Her door bumped open, and Lilly made her way through, pushing a trolley. Momentarily distracted. Izah'belya took a moment to gloat at her success with the elf. She'd finally managed to get her to accept that spiderweb stockings and all that black was never going to work when she was plump and self-conscious about her appearance. Instead, she had coaxed Lilly into throwing out her entire wardrobe and letting Izah'belya replace everything. And that meant there were fewer handkerchiefs tied together with dental floss and more figure-flattering blouses and leather jackets made from the skin of the damned.
Lilly still wore too much spider-themed jewellery and enough eyeliner to drown an imp, but Izah'belya's dark schemes had not yet reached their culmination.
"I… uh, well, I knew you'd had a hard day on the surface world," Lilly chattered away, "so I made sure that your coffee was soul-black, which is just the way you like it when you're suffering dimension-lag. You luckily just arrived when I had a fresh batch of cupcakes coming out. And I made albinis which are a new thing I'm trying out – they're sort of like brownies only rather than being made from brownies they're made from albino brownies who aren't really brown but—"
Surprisingly, Lilly was the best PA she'd ever had. Quite apart from the lack of murder attempts, she actually understood that when an up-and-coming ambitious demoness was having a hard day the last thing she needed was additional stress. She was fairly efficient at things like fetching coffee and actually cared about things like eco-friendly brands and getting the right kinds of milk, which mattered a lot when you were infernolactose intolerant and so needed milk from surface cows. They were not demons, despite having hooves and horns. That had confused all her previous PAs.
Also, she baked really wicked cupcakes. And decorated them with little spider patterns and pumpkins with a frowny face.
Izah'belya took her coffee thankfully. "Did you get the reports?"
"Yes, they're tucked under… um, oh, there they are, under the plate with the cupcakes on."
Extracting the documentation and brushing off crumbs, Izah'belya began to review the lineage of her newfound family. They were disgustingly heroic, all in all. Not only did they have hundreds of years of experience at thwarting the dark plans of the de la Vallière family and also stealing their lovers, but in between warring with one of the most evil families in Halkeginia and continually failing to die, they also found the time to run around the place slaying dragons, demons, and generally being walking disaster areas to the forces of Evil. There were a few werewolves and the like in the family tree, often due to de la Vallière conniving, but they were usually cured by… urgh, the power of love. Dark gods, the past few generations seemed to recover from lycanthropy after a few weeks' bed rest!
Swirling her coffee, Izah'belya sighed. Her heroic heritage was potentially even more embarrassing than Jez'sika's. Well, she'd need to make sure this never got out, or she'd never hear the end of it from her gender-challenged cousin. She'd also need to watch herself for any heroic urges. That would be problematic, and might get her some murder attempts from her half-sisters. They did that anyway, but they might try harder if they thought they could get away with it by claiming she was going to betray the Abyss to the forces of Light.
"So, uh. How b-badly did it go?" Lilly asked her gingerly, hovering by the trolley.
"It could have gone better," Izah'belya said, trying to look on the dark side of things. She remembered herself, and focussed back on work. "That is to say, I have devised a brand new business opportunity. I believe we can exploit the forces of Light through a diversified portfolio of accoutrements and fashion solutions. Through an amoral policy of fiscal maximisation and sacrifices to the demon-lord Kapetaal, I shall profit beyond measure, attaining a cross-morality dominant market position. Moreover, the public relations opportunities may allow a position for potential corruption of hostile interests and their subversion without excess risk or exposure."
"Uh…"
Izah'belya remembered who she was talking to and rephrased her answer without invoking the Blackest Art. "I think we can make money by selling clothes and armour to heroes as well as villains. Their money spends just as well as anyone else's. And if I get them thinking that I'm 'not so bad', they won't try to kill me then."
"Oh." Lilly shifted over to the desk, and started sorting books. "I g-guess that makes sense."
"Yes, it does," Izah'belya said smugly. It was quite a bad post-facto rationalisation for everything. "And I must say, Guiche de Gramont was quite handsome for all that he," she shifted uncomfortably, wincing, "punches hard. Suitably corrupted, he might make quite a wicked consort for a while." She tapped her finger against her lips. "Honestly, I could always try corrupting him later and try before I buy, if you know what I mean."
"Try… uh, b-before you buy his soul?" Lilly said, blushing bright red.
"I suppose I could do that too," Izah'belya said. "Hmm. I need to find you a consort, too."
Lilly contrived to redden further, until it looked like she was trying to blend into the sky outside. "Th-th-there's no n-n-need to…"
Quirking an eyebrow, Izah'belya looked at her PA over the top of her cupcake. "You're in your forties and you're still a virgin. Girl, you need to live a little more. There's more to life than baking and spiders."
"H-h-how d-do you know—"
The succubus raised her eyebrows at that comment, the corners of her mouth quirking up wickedly.
"I'm… I'm… I'm only f-forty f-four and that's still young, t-too…"
"Nah, I've seen your friends," Izah'belya said knowingly. "None of them have your particular metaphysical state. You're just repressed. And—"
But what she was about to say was interrupted by the mirror on Izah'belya's desk chiming. She glanced at it, and went pale under her tan.
"My mother," she hissed, yanking her bare feet off the table. Lilly squeaked. "Let down the drapes!" Izah'belya ordered, scrabbling in her desk drawer for her tiara as she threw up an illusion exaggerating the size of her horns and removing all the signs that she had only just got back from the surface and hadn't had time to put fresh makeup on. "Eye-candy! Get in here!"
A troupe of shirtless oiled-up hunky demons filed in, and started posing against the backdrop. Behind her, Lilly fought with lowering the drapes carefully embroidered with lurid imagery. Taking a moment to bite her lips to redden them, Izah'belya checked that Lilly couldn't be seen from the mirror and then answered the call.
"Oh, Izah'belya, darling," said the Succubus-Queen, her face appearing on the mirror. The de facto ruler of the Abyss was a figure to break hearts. Her skin was as flawless as porcelain and inhumanly milk-pale. Izah'belya now knew she looked Germanian, but her mother resembled a race long since dead, slain six thousand years ago by terrible magics. Long artfully done blonde hair cascaded around her gilded horns. Behind her, powerful bat-wings filled the reflection.
Of course, Izah'belya knew for a fact that there was a lot of magic and no small amount of surgery that went into keeping her mother looking like she was young enough to be her sister, but that was just one of the privileges of power. Someday she'd seize that much power for herself.
"Mother and all-mighty queen," Izah'belya said. "Your majesty, for you to speak to your humble servant and daughter is an honour I do not deserve."
"Of course you don't, darling," her mother said with an empty giggle. "But I just heard you were back and I had to just see you. Are you doing badly, my baby?"
Izah'belya tried not to frown. She'd be scolded for giving herself wrinkles. She had tried to keep her transit off the records. Did that indicate that her mother had spies within her organisation that she didn't know about? "I am feeling entirely malevolent, mother, and I am pleased to say that I am your majesty's humble servant."
"Oh, thank you darling. By the way, I love the eye-candy. It's so good to see my little girl paying attention to the things in life that really matters."
"Thank you, mother."
"But, Izzy, darling. A little birdy told me that you'd run into Guiche de Gramont and his little band of insufferable do-gooders. That rascal's been a pain in the neck, ever since he first showed up. Did you know his genius and cunning in defeating Fouquet meant I didn't get certain gorgeous little things I was hoping she'd acquire from the Tristainian Academy of Magic?"
"Such a hateful hero," Izah'belya said, dutifully. If she was to be quite honest, the story of how he managed to defeat Fouquet made him even more attractive – and since then, he'd grown up in even more interesting ways. "Indeed, mother. I have a malevolent plan to corrupt him and claim his soul."
"Such a wicked little girl," her mother cooed. Her face hardened. "But no."
"No?" Izah'belya echoed. "M-mother? I… I don't understand."
"Of course not, darling. It's mother's job to do the thinking. You just need to do what mother tells you to. Izzy, darling, you are not to involve yourself with Guiche de Gramont or any of his associates. I'm just so worried about you. He's just too dangerous."
Izah'belya deliberately pouted. "But mother. I want him," she said as behind the mask of a bad little succubus her mind whirred.
"I know you do, darling. But it's for your own safety. A vigorous, powerful man like him – and his deadly female compatriots – might just be too much for you to handle. You're only twenty-four, Izzy. You're still mummy's little girl. So you won't go near him, or any of his associates. Will you?"
With a grand sigh, Izah'belya met her mother's violet eyes. "No, your majesty," she said.
"There's my little girl," said the Succubus Queen. "Now, Izzy, darling, next time I'm in town we'll need to do lunch and you can tell me everything you've been doing. But I really have my next appointment soon," she giggled, "and my, he looks tasty. I'm going to ruin him for any other woman."
"Yes, mother."
"Bye-bye." The image in the mirror essayed a little wave. "Be seeing you!" Her mother vanished from the mirror, and Izah'belya slumped forwards. She was shaking faintly, as all the nervous tension escaped her.
Lilly escorted the posing oiled-up hunks out of the office, then took off her jacket and wrapped it around her boss' shoulders. "Oh dear. That was a h-hard one," she said softly. "She was even n-nicer than usual."
"I know," Izah'belya muttered into surface of her desk. "She only acts nice when she's angry." Hugging herself, she tried to repress her shivers. "I… I think I was a few poorly chosen words from her showing up in person. I've never seen her that furious before."
"Poor you. D-do you want another cupcake? You'll need to lift your head up."
Izah'belya shifted so her chin was propped up on the desk. "Is your mother like that at all?"
Lilly looked surprised. "Uh, well, she's an, um, an elven lady. And my f-father is a S-Senator, so she's always p-perfect and h-hosts his c-campaign dinners."
"She never implicitly threatens to kill you if you disobey her?"
"Uh…"
"What did you think 'keep away from him for your own safety' meant?" Izah'belya asked morosely.
"Oh. Uh, no. No, um, implicit threats. She'd just kill m-me herself and have the h-help dispose of the body quietly because of the… uh, whole 'Dark Elf' thing," Lilly said frankly. "It would h-hurt my father's re-election efforts if there was a scandal about m-me, while a d-dead daughter is good PR. I remember her burying one of my cousins down in the garden because it was about to come out that he was the Starry Skies Killer."
"Oh yes, your mother is Good," Izah'belya said. "I'd forgotten about that."
"So… uh. You should probably listen to your m-mother?" Lilly suggested. She paused. "You're not going to, are you?"
"Why would I disobey her?" Izah'belya said, trying to be calm. "I'm a bad girl."
Given the revelation that she was half-Hero, this entitled her to use Good language occasionally. When it benefitted her. Because she suspected that it wasn't Guiche de Gramont that she was being warned away from. Plenty of her half-sisters had been lavished with praise by Mother for seducing various Heroes – and plenty more had been killed by their targets and Mother never shed a tear.
No, what she suspected Mother was trying to keep her away from was her half-siblings, the von Zerbsts. And that made Izah'belya curious. Mother always worked to stop her daughters from finding out who their fathers were. She wanted them to consider themselves succubae exclusively. Was she so paranoid that Izah'belya might defect to the forces of Light at the drop of a hat? Just because she found out she was a von Zerbst?
Pathetic. She'd corrupt all those heroes to her service on the sly and present it as a fait accompli. Her mother would have to accept it. She'd show her.
The lights in the tavern were dimmed. Only a few guttering candles provided illumination, and the shadows danced on the wall as the wind screamed outside. The full moon was blood-red in the sky, peeking out from behind wispy clouds. The blue moon hid behind its sibling. A strange and arcane occult conjunction was occurring. It was a double eclipse; a time of great and present malignancy.
"It was a dark and stormy night," began the barman. The balding man leant on the counter, polishing a glass as he recounted a tale to the heroes within his establishment. "I was…"
Montmorency narrowed her eyes. "Which night? Be more precise," she demanded, hands wrapped around her drink.
"Well… uh, it was last Firesday."
"It wasn't that stormy," she pointed out. "I mean, yes, certainly it rained a bit. But I wouldn't call it stormy. And the red moon was almost full."
"Look, just hush! I want to hear the story," Danny said, hugging his knees.
"I'm just saying…"
"Eet was not zat stormy, oui," agreed Tabitha, without looking up from her book. "Zough ze weazer was poor."
"I don't know," Kirche said. "I mean, it was pretty windy."
"But not storm-levels of wind," Montmorency insisted.
The students had been given leave of absence from the Academy of Magic on the grounds that some madman was probably going to try to summon some unholy horror and the Regency Council had requested that they be ready to thwart whatever happened. With the murderous Overlady of the North still free and Albion cast into chaos and strange Abyssal rifts opening up, no one was safe. Lunar eclipses empowered the forces of wickedness and so the champions of righteousness should be prepared to strike them down.
Surprisingly, however, things were being very quiet. For all that they'd tracked down and killed all the bandits who had taken up residence in the old temple to a forgotten god built next to a statue to a fish-god and on top a cairn containing a pre-Brimiric warlord's tomb, they hadn't actually found anything. Montmorency had complained about how it seemed like every hillock in the fens near Amstrelldamme was covered in cursed ritual sites, but she said that sort of thing a lot.
Anyway, they had pillaged some of the ancient cairns and taken the tarnished grave-gold and then slain the undead horrors that had come to thwart the desecration of their unholy tombs, so she'd cheered up a bit.
"Look, are you going to stop blathering on and let me finish my story?" the barkeeper said irritably, as he polished a mug. He was twitching faintly, and from his big red nose he looked like he might have been his own best customer.
"Of course, innkeeper," Guiche said amicably. "I apologise with a full-heart for my companions' behaviour."
The man nodded. "Thank'e kindly. Now, it was a dark and," he glared at Monmon, "rainy night. I was heading to the old cemetery built on top of the orcish sacred lands, to lay flowers for my father who died mysteriously twenty years ago. I was just passing the Tree of Suicides where Rikkert the Necromancer killed himself after the battle of the Fens when…"
"That sounds implausible," Montmorency said.
Kirche poked her. "Stop that!"
"What? No one would build a cemetery on top of orcish sacred lands. No one wants orcish zombies. Or angry alive orcs. And another thing…" she began, before Kirche clipped her over the back of the head.
"When a carriage clattered past, travelling at full speed," the innkeeper continued desperately. "And who did I see but Mr Slager the butcher, Miss Bakker the baker and Miss Kandelaar-Maker the candlestick maker in the carriage? They were all wearing full black robes, too! Covered in evil-like writing!"
"Gosh!" Danny said. "I bet something's happening! Has anyone been kidnapped recently?"
The innkeeper sucked in air between his teeth. "Now, it's funny you mention that," he said, "but I heard that Young Rikkert and Elsabeth went missing yesterday. He's the most handsome young man and she's the most beautiful young lady from all around."
Kirche's ears perked up at the mention of 'handsome young man'. "Well, that sounds just dreadful," she said thoughtfully, stroking her chin. "And we do have separate rooms here…"
"Huh?" Danny said.
"Just thinking out loud. But," Kirche continued, "I think this might be a suspicious ritual! Possibly involving human sacrifice of some handsome young man! Oh, and a girl too. Thank you very much, innskeeper! Do you have a map to this place?"
"I think I have something around the place," the fat man said, ambling off.
"Kirche," Montmorency hissed. "What are you doing?"
"Monmon," Guiche said, laying a hand on hers. "Of course we should investigate it. That's why the Academy gave us time off, and a bloody sacrifice on the night of the lunar eclipse is something we should stop."
"We certainly shouldn't," Montmorency objected.
"It's all right to be sca-"
"I'm not scared! I just think he's a liar."
The others stared at her.
"What?" Danny asked.
"Oh, come on. That story was ridiculously overblown. I don't believe it for a second."
"Look," Kirche said wearily, "just for once, we're not doing this for money."
"Of course you aren't! Firstly, you're disgusting. Secondly, in a backwater fen like this? How nubile – and I can't believe I'm saying this – can the young men actually be? They probably stink of brackish water and dead frogs."
"Dead frogs? But we're not that close to Gallia," Kirche said in confusion. She sighed. "I suppose you're right, but, still, no one wants some kind of crazy cult summoning something dark and malevolent."
"I'm not saying you can't have 'fun' stamping around a bog," Montmorency said, in a tone that suggested that was exactly what she was saying. "It's just I'm not going and getting wet in such a… a contrived situation. If anything, investigating this inn is more likely to be profitable… uh, heroic for us. There are ghost stories about it. And I read rumours that imps have been seen in the countryside around here, so there may be a gateway to the Abyss concealed somewhere nearby."
"Well," Guiche said, with a sigh. "If it is your wish, my rose, I will stay with you. What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't stay here to keep you safe?"
The girl smiled. "Thank you," she said. "Now…"
"Non. I am going. Zere was no mention of a ghost when we choze to stay 'ere," Tabitha said with a mild look of disquiet on her face, showing unusual amounts of emotion. "I will go. Zis place, if it is 'aunted I will not stay 'ere."
Kirche pulled a face. "But you know I hate splitting the party," she complained.
"Last week you ran off on your own to investigate a monastery," Monmon said harshly. "And were out all night."
"I had to inspect them for signs that they were demonic cultists!" Kirche said, sounding hurt. "Father taught me how to check nuns for signs that they were in league with the forces of Darkness. Very similar techniques work for monks."
"Oh, really?" Danny asked enthusiastically. "Can you show me?"
"It's all about knowing where to look for hidden brands," Kirche said wisely. "Who knows what demonic sigils or twistings of the flesh might be hidden under a cassock? Or what vile and lewd texts they might have in their bedchambers?"
"You're disgusting," Montmorency mumbled.
"Why?" Tabitha asked, frowning.
"… we'll explain when you're older, Tabby," Kirche said with a sigh. "In fact, you might as well get Sylphid ready. We'll go after the cult, while Mons and Guiche look for ghosts here."
Tabitha looked over at the two of them. "Better you zan me," she said earnestly.
…
But for all her protests, Montmorency didn't seem to be very interested in investigating the inn for any signs of ghosts. After a perfunctory sweep where she didn't even comment acerbically on Guiche's heroic fight with a medium-sized rat that had got into the kitchens, she returned to her room, bidding him a rather firm "Good night".
That rather ruined the evening for him. He had been looking forwards to going around the inn and asking everyone who would speak to him whether they had seen anything unusual. His friends didn't seem to get why he did that, and never grasped his explanations that he was a people person who liked meeting strangers and that on top of that, protecting commoners fulfilled the noble traditions of the Gramont family. But his worry about Montmorency's uncustomary behaviour gnawed at him.
So he said a mock-weary goodnight to the innkeeper, went to his bedroom, and locked the door behind him. Then he popped open the shutters, eased his way out around the edge of the building, and with a muttered incantation undid Montmorency's latch.
"Guiche!" she hissed at him as he slid in, closing the shutters behind him. It was dimly lit in her room, with just a single candle casting light. Despite the darkness, he could tell that she had been crying. She was dressed in her nightclothes, and there were several wet handkerchiefs scattered on her bed. It smelt strongly of her perfume. "What are you doing in here? Get out!"
"Monmon," he said. "Come on. I'm worried about you and…"
"I'm worried about the fact you're in a lady's bedroom!" she snapped back in a furious whisper. The shadows danced across her face. "Just go!"
"Hey, Monmon," Guiche said. He was careful to sit not to close to her on the bed – and yet also not too far away. Also, it was fairly important not to sit on the drenched handkerchiefs. "Is something… wrong?"
"I'm fine," she said. "You're not! You shouldn't be here!"
"You don't sound fine."
"I am!" She whirled to glare at him, blue eyes flashing. "Can't you believe a lady?"
Leaning back on the bed, Guiche looked up at the ceiling. "You've been ill-humoured for a while."
"It's a feminine issue," Montmorency snapped.
"I don't think it is," he continued. "It's to do with that letter, isn't it?"
The girl froze up, skin paling beneath her spattering of summer freckles. "Can't you believe me when I say I'm fine?" she almost pleaded.
"Monmon," Guiche said, shoulders slumping. "Is it… a family thing? They've arranged a marriage for you, haven't they?"
"You knew." The words came out as a squeak.
"Yes," he admitted. "We've been going around with each other for a while and… I didn't want to pry or know, but my eldest brother noticed and he asked some questions because he wanted to help. I mean, we've always been close and he… and… well. Some of the things came out." His hands screwed up in the bed sheets. "And I was sure we'd have more time and that… that they'd wait until after we graduated, at least."
"I thought that too," Montmorency whispered. "I thought we'd have a year or two. I'd calculated everything. With our current income, it was going to work. I was going to have time. And we… we could…" she bit her lip, "… I'd planned everything out. But… but… my father is a drunk. And can't keep away from the card tables." The last words came out as a whisper. "We'd be better off if his liver gave out now."
"Don't say that!"
"It's true!" She whirled on him, fresh tears streaking their way down her cheeks. "He's drinking himself to death and no one can stop him, but in the meantime he thinks he can win back the money gambling and he can't! He's going to die either way, but the longer he lasts, the more he'll beggar us!"
Guiche massaged his temples. "Can't you get a priest to testify that he's not in his right mind and can't borrow?"
"Oh! Let me tell you about priests!" Montmorency laughed bitterly. "Oh yes, there's a priest. And he tells my father that everything is forgiven. His confessor swears that he's in his right mind! That man dresses far too well and his pockets are always full!"
Hunching over, Guiche sighed. "Monmon…" he began.
"There isn't a way out," she whispered. "There might have been. If Father wasn't a drunk. If my two older brothers hadn't been killed in the war against Pierre the Black. If mother hadn't died having my little sister and my stepmother wasn't so greedy. But there's no way out." She glared at him fiercely. "It just drives me mad when utter… utter bastards from the high nobility call me 'grasping' or 'selfish'. How dare they? How dare they? It's easy to not care about money when you never have to worry about it!"
"We can stop this!" he blurted out. "If you'd just said… but we can still stop this! We're heroes! We've saved the country! We've stopped demons and necromancers and orcs and… and… Monmon, my rose, a mere moneylender or two is no—"
Montmorency leaned in, placing her finger on his lips. "Oh, Guiche," she said, her tone a peculiar mix of patronising and fondness. "You're such an innocent sometimes." She blotted at her eyes with an already-soaked handkerchief. "It's very attractive, even if it's a blooming nuisance when you insist on going and helping out random commoners for tiny rewards." She leant in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for everything. I suppose we really should have listened to Kirche. Think of all the fun we could have had."
He swallowed, Adam's apple bouncing. "Uh…" he said dumbly.
She gave a weak smile. "For such a flirt, you're remarkably blind sometimes," she said. "You're probably going to make some heiress very happy someday. I wish it would have been me, but… but that's not an option now."
"No, really," he said, trying to focus. This close, the scent of her perfume was overpowering and he was finding it hard to think. "We can stop this! We… we can appeal to the queen! To the Council! We've served them both! The queen made us chevaliers! If you don't want to get married, you can—"
"Do what?" She rested her head on his shoulders. "Dishonour my family by breaking off a marriage? Leave them to penury? My father is… is a drunkard, but he's still my father. He wasn't like this when… when my brothers were alive. If I don't get married… I have to. I tried to avoid it honourably, but I failed."
There was a long, painful silence. Guiche considered if there was anything – anything at all – he could say.
"Do… do you know when they're planning it?" he tried.
"Probably by the end of next year," Montmorency said. "I don't even know who they're going to pick." She grimaced. "And that'll be that for me. I doubt I'll be allowed to keep doing this. Not until he's got an heir and a spare from me," she said with disgust.
"Stop talking about yourself like that. Like you're just a thing," Guiche said, feeling faint. "Monmon, you're… you're the smartest person I know! And you're our healer! And you outbarter merchants all the time! There has to be something I… we can do!"
"Such an innocent. I am just a thing. I'm something to be married off to save my family from the consequences of the actions of my idiot of a father," she whispered. "What kind of proper lady haggles like a merchant, anyway?" Twisting, she pinched his cheek. "You're a boy," she said. "You get to go chasing after heiresses, and you get to win them. As a prize. Lucky you. You get money and on top of that, you get a wife. Girls don't get the same choice. I'm the prize for someone who's willing to take on my family's debts in return for a title. Things aren't fair – and you benefit from that."
"But…" Guiche said, his stomach sinking. "But it's not my fault! You know I would propose, Monmon! I would! I lo—"
"Not a word more." Monmon paused. "It's not your fault, no," she sighed. "But you still benefit from it. Founder. I'm… I'm so flipping jealous of Kirche sometimes. She gets to be a girl, but gets all the benefits of being male. It'd almost be worth being a Germanian if I got to do what she does."
Frowning, Guiche tried to focus in the wavering candle-light. "Are you really jealous of Kirche?" he asked.
"Yes," she admitted. "I mean, if I'd taken her advice, the two of us could have…" she trailed off, blushing. "Wait. Why am I telling you this? And why did I tell you that I'm jealous of Kirche?"
"I don't know," Guiche said slowly. "Did I just almost propose?"
"Well, you are wearing perfume. I don't even know why you'd do that."
"… but I thought that was your perfume."
There was a long and meaningful silence.
"It… hmm." Montmorency coiled one lock of hair around her finger, twirling it as she sniffed. "I think there's certainly some perfume in it, disguising it. My tongue feels numb, so that rules out Quickmatch or Silverflower. I wonder if I get my alchemists' kit out, I can see if…" she tried to rise, and found that her seat was much more comfortable. "Hmm. Unusual lethargy."
"No, I can get up," Guiche said, stretching. He yawned. "It is late. And… oh wait, no, I want to sit down too."
"Yes, you're heavier than me," Monmon said, sounding distracted. "That would match my expectation that anything like that would hit me harder."
"Why are we just sitting here?" Guiche asked, swaying from side to side. "We know we're breathing in some alchemical reagent."
"Good point. There's a good chance there's a distracting element in it which means we can't focus, which combined with the numbness in my tongue… aha! I know what it is!" she said brightly, albeit slurring slightly. "It's aerosolised Draught of Swift Repose! It uses perfume-maker techniques to spray the potion in a breathable form and… oh, poo, we've been inha—"
"Montmorency! Mind your language!" Guiche said. "Now, what was that about inha—"
…
The innkeeper pushed open the door. The two heroes were sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep. Montmorency was snoring.
"See, mistress!" he said to his companion. "Your plan worked! They never even realised what was going on! They just sat here, inha—"
He staggered, collapsed and fell over.
The woman behind him pinched her brow. "It's so hard to find bad help on the surface," she muttered to herself. "I told him to drink the damn antipotion." Putting her hands on her hips, she glared down at Montmorency and Guiche. "I'm going to have to carry you off myself," she grumbled.
The two heroes and the innkeeper snored at her.
Shaking out her reddish-blonde hair, she permitted herself a brief gloat before she began dragging off the bodies.
…
Guiche stirred. His head was aching, and his mouth felt bone dry. His eyelids felt heavy and sticky, like they were made of… of something that was heavy and sticky. Glue-covered lead, maybe. What had happened? He didn't think he'd been so foolish again as to try to outdrink Kirche.
No, wait. He groaned. There had been… something with Montmorency. She'd been upset for some reason. And… and something about a potion?
"Okay, people, make sure you've got the lighting in place! Where's the make-up team? I need the adoring extras ready to go on queue! Ts'amahantha, how's the shot set up?"
"It's looking malicious, darling. Just malicious!"
"Wicked!"
Guiche cracked open an eyelid. The light was decidedly red, and from the blasted cyclopean landscape full of towering monoliths and ruined architecture of long-dead eras, certain conclusions could be made. These conclusions were only reinforced by the fact that the hordes of hell itself surrounded him, engaging in vile and abhorrent activities which for some reason involved moving around large mirrored discs and placing candles in strategic locations.
"Blast it," he muttered. "I'm in the Abyss again." He tried to move, and found that he was tied to his quite comfortable chair. "Damn."
"Oh! He's awake!" A demoness who looked nearly human save for her ram's horns swept up to him. She wore some strange oriental robe in a deep red, combined with an obsidian tiara. "Dark greetings to you, Guiche de Gramont. I must apologise for you waking up right now. Things aren't quite ready yet, so you're just going to need to wait until the scene is prepared."
"I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, ma'am," Guiche said. There was no reason to be rude now, not when he was tied to a chair and didn't have his wand. "You are?"
"My apologies. You may call me Izah'belya, princess of the Abyss and daughter of the Queen of the Succubae. I had you captured. Soon you will see—"
"I'd just like to make one objection, if you don't mind," Guiche said politely. "I don't actually want to be sacrificed to some dark god."
Izah'belya blinked. "I'm sorry?" she said. "You seem to be under some misapprehensions as to my intent."
Guiche swallowed. He looked the demon up and down. She was certainly attractive in a rather lush, full-bodied way, with tanned skin, reddish blonde hair and rather Germanian-looking features. "That's a bit fast," he said quickly, voice rising in pitch. "I'd rather not… I mean, I don't even know you and… surely there should be some level of courtship and… and… and if it's all the same to you, I quite like my soul and I don't want you to eat it."
The woman chuckled, a warm and surprisingly human sound. "You're sweet," she said. That did not reassure him. She might be talking about his flavour. "Actually, I needed your presence for my journals. That's why I went to such lengths to lure you out to a place where my servants could capture you."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm launching a new journal, and your presence here gives me an exclusive. I'm thinking an interview, a full-page spread, a report, you modelling underwear…"
"I don't follow."
"Well, you see, with the success of my new villainous range which trials Oriental-Occidental fusion in garment styles – which is seeing such great success in Albion, I'll have you know – I realised that I were lacking the market coverage in less conventional areas. By diversifying my portfolio and investing in nonstandard operations, I'll be able to take advantage of the novelty factor and greatly expand my media presence in multiple sectors!"
Guiche understood not the black words of the Abyss this mad demon was babbling. "I'm not selling my soul," he said, on the grounds that this was always a Good thing to say to a demon.
Izah'belya massaged her temples. "Look, I'll dumb it down for you since you're busy living up to the dumb blond stereotype," she said.
"You're blonde too."
"… not the point. You are my captive. You will do what I want. And that means all the hordes of the Abyss will see this."
Ah. That was back on more understandable territory. "You won't get away with this, you fiend!" Guiche exclaimed. "I'll escape! And rescue Monmon too!"
Izah'belya shrugged. "Honestly, I don't care about her. Her media presence is slim. An interview with her isn't worth much, and she's not a valuable trophy hostage. If you cooperate fully and waive all claims to the intellectual property therein, I'll release her unharmed."
Guiche flinched. His heart lurched, as he thought of Montmorency – so vulnerable, innocent and kind. He was aware that this was somewhat of an idealisation, but she was at least theoretically capable of being vulnerable, innocent and kind. He had to keep her safe. "Unharmed," he said, gritting his teeth. "You'll release her unharmed, in a safe location back in the real world, of my choice. And you won't do anything like… I don't know, strap gunpowder to her and say 'ah ha ha, I didn't harm her when I released her' or cunning demonic tricks like that!"
The fact that if he played for time, Kirche and Tabitha would probably show up was also a not-inconsiderable factor contributing to his decision.
"… that's not really a cunning trick," Izah'belya said sniffily. "I mean, if I was going to do that sort of thing, I'd probably… wait, no, we're getting distracted here."
"I swear I shall comply," Guiche said, "for her safety. This I vow."
"Well, that's uncommonly polite of you."
Guiche shrugged as best he could when he was tied to a chair. "Common manners cost very little, and as a gentleman and a noble, it behoves me to be polite to a lady such as yourself, and doubly so a beautiful one. Even if she should happen to be a dastardly succubus with no-doubt malign intentions. The sharpness of your thorns does not detract from the grace and elegance of your petals."
"Stop, stop, you're flattering me! You'll make me blush!" Izah'belya paused. "Actually, no, what am I saying? If you feel the need to contribute with flattery, please do. But since you're going to be cooperative, would you mind trying on some outfits? It'll make it much faster for everyone if we don't have to drug you every time we want to change your get-up."
…
"I won't let you get away with this!" Guiche shouted, raising his very shiny and utterly blunt sword.
"Malicious, just malicious darling!" the artist said, her six arms working with tremendous speed. "Hold that pose! And Lady Montmorency, could you please look a little more like a delicate wilting blossom captured by the supreme forces of darkness and a little less… what's the word? Furious? Irate? Murderous? Yes, probably murderous."
Montmorency stared with hate-filled eyes that promised wrathful vengeance on the demonic artist. Clad in a dress that somehow managed to imply many things without actually revealing them, she was tied to a sacrificial altar playing – as Izah'belya said – the role of the pure innocent maiden that the hero had rushed in to rescue only to be defeated by the forces of Evil. She had been gagged, on the grounds that she was being hatefully mean to the artist, who wasn't paid enough to deal with people like Montmorency.
"Izah'belya! We've got a problem! The blond one just looks angry," called out Ts'amahantha.
"No he doesn't."
"No, not the hot blond one, the other one."
Izah'belya's brow furrowed as she looked at the painting. "We can fix it in post," she said, coming to a quick decision. "Just inkbrush it out at the same time as you're removing the blemishes. Of which she has a great many."
"Got it."
Montmorency's glare intensified at that remark, and she made noises that sounded a lot like bowdlerised profanities muffled by a gag.
Her hands tucked into the sleeves of her gown, Izah'belya sighed. "And please, Montmorency, looks can't kill. You're not part basilisk. Try to be more like Guiche. Now there's a hero who's entirely reasonable and professional about things. And don't stop posing or you'll ruin the framing! You need to look both intimidated, but also determined to fight to the last against the inevitable triumph of Evil! That's your motivation! How is the outfit, by the way?"
Guiche grimaced. "It's very… snug," he said eventually. Given the sole garments he had been provided were knee high leather boots and tight white demonic underwear, that fact was evident to all the onlookers. He had been given a sword as well, but it was just a prop. His eyes flickered to the black-robed cultists gathering around the entrance.
"I know it's snug! That's what it's made to be. But how does it feel?"
"Well… very comfortable, if you must know," he admitted. "And the boots are a very good fit."
"Really? I thought… wait, no, Good language. So you're pleased with them?"
"I will never be pleased with the works of Evil and—"
"Yes, yes, continue."
"… then, yes, these are probably the best boots I've ever worn. And this… this pair of unmentionables is well-fitting."
"They're also slave-washable," Izah'belya said happily. "Malevolent! I'll have to consider using that quote on the advertising blurbs! Guiche de Gramont says, 'These are probably the best boots I've ever worn'. How does that sound?"
"Dreadful."
"I know!" She gave him a thumbs up. "You're a maleficent model! After this is over, we'll need to talk about future work!"
Guiche tensed his jaw, but said nothing. He was waiting for his chance. With a meaningful nod at Montmorency, he glanced towards the sacrificial knife on the altar she was strapped to. She nodded back, squirming to try to reach it.
"Please don't move," Izah'belya said, sighing. "And no, that sacrificial knife is blunt." She gestured around the room. "This entire set doesn't have a single sharp thing here. And I also made sure your wands are nowhere nearby."
Considering this, Guiche nodded. "I understand," he said. And that was why he waited until Izah'belya approached him with a new outfit before throwing his prop sword in her face and grabbing her.
"I'm a hero," he shouted at Izah'belya's underlings, "so don't think I won't hurt her unless you do exactly what I say! Go on! Untie Montmorency!"
"So much for honour and your oath," the succubus said bitterly as her underlings scattered and screamed. Only the artist stayed, still working on her paintings.
"I saw the black-robed figures with knives by the door! You're planning to break it and sacrifice us!"
"That's because we need a chanting cult for some of the later shots!"
"A likely story!"
"I'm going to give you one chance to let go of me," Izah'belya said, jaw tense. "Just because I happen to be a succubus does not mean I like being grabbed."
"Do you think me fool enough to release a princess of darkness?" Guiche asked. "Go on! Order your servants to free Montmorency!"
And then Guiche found that the succubus princess had a punch like an iron bar. He staggered backwards, wheezing. He worked his jaw, wincing at the pain. Izah'bleya squared up to him, fists raised.
"Why'd you have to go do that?" she chided him. "Now if you know what's bad for you, you'll…"
And then Izah'belya found that Guiche had been heroing for nearly two years and that while his punches might not have been the hardest, they didn't have to be when they were aimed at her chest. She grunted, tears coming to her dark eyes as she clutched at her right side.
"Now we're even," Guiche said grimly.
"No we're not! That was my boob, you asshole! Do you know how much that hurts?"
"Because you're a succubus? Is it your weak spot?"
"Because I'm a woman! Men! You are going to pay for that."
Guiche wisely and pre-emptively moved to protect his groin, which was just as well. With a speed which spoke of many ballet lessons Izah'belya's foot lashed out like a snake. That warning counted for everything because he managed to get his hands around her calf. What should have been a crippling blow suddenly left her in a bind, and he took full advantage of it. Caught off balance, she was helpless to stop him barrelling her down to the ground.
"When I said you were going to let me and Monmon go," he growled, getting his forearm to her throat, "that wasn't a request."
Her legs came up, wrapping around his waist in a steely vice. The unexpectedness of the assault, not helped by the hammer-blow of her demonic aura, forced the air from his lungs and that was enough for her to turn and twist. The next few seconds were confused and moderately painful for both parties, but it ended up with Izah'belya sitting on his chest, pinning his shoulders with her knees. Her gown was split down all the seams and the neckline now reached down to the waist, revealing a nasty-looking bruise forming on the right side of her chest.
"What was it then?" she growled. Something strange was going on with her. While it was traditional for violence against a demon to encourage it to take on its true horrific form, her horns were actually shrinking. "If it wasn't a request, what was it? I'll tell you what it was! It was a little baby crying! What you are going to do is stop ruining my plans for you and…"
Whatever she was going to say next was rudely interrupted when Guiche kneed her in the small of the back. His scrabbling attempts to get free managed to destroy what remained of her dress, but he couldn't worm free from her hold. Somewhere in Guiche's mind he realised that the texts he'd read which talked about how succubae were skilled at wrestling may have been speaking literally.
"Look, I am hitting you with all the aura I have!" Izah'belya snapped. "I know it's weaker than some, but come on! I am literally pinning you with my thighs! You destroyed my gown too, and I liked that gown! Just have the manners to stop fighting back!"
"Never!" Guiche retorted, his resolve hard.
"Give me strength! What do I have to do, take off my bra too? Everything was going according to plan and you are ruining everything!"
"Good!" Guiche tried to spit in her eye and missed. "I would never let you defile me in front of Monmon! My love for her rose outshines your dark power." In the background, Montmorency paused in her attempts to get her hands free, turning bright red and squeaking. "She is the beacon I cling to in this wicked place!"
"Oh no. Oh no. Don't you dare. Don't you dare get true lovey-dovey on me! Ts'amahantha! Fresh picture! I want a blackmail picture! We can remove the lingerie in post! Just get it done before he gets—"
The wall exploded, collapsing onto Ts'amahantha who let out a squeak and expired.
"Ah ha!" pronounced the dashing valiant rogue whose bold figure appeared from the dust. Hair flapping in the breeze, they postured on the rubble. "Vile wrongdoer, your days are at an end! Surrender, or I'll cut you down where you stand through fire and passion!"
"Yeah! We're going to totally stab you a lot!" added a rather shorter, less dashing rogue who looked to be about twelve. "Give us back Guiche! Oh, and Montmorency too!"
The dragon who poked her head through the hole in the wall and started to eat the crushed Ts'amahantha didn't say anything. Neither did the girl sitting on her back with a wand in one hand and a book in the other.
"Oh my," Kirche said, her tone decidedly lascivious. "Guiche, what are you doing?"
"Being beaten up by a succubus who's stronger than me!" he blurted out, trying to get his excuses in first.
"And where did you get those boots? I have to get me a pair like that!"
"Not the time!"
"How the hell did you find me?!" Izah'belya exploded, leaping off Guiche as her wings unfurled. She hung in mid-air, looking for a way out.
"Zeir familiars fetched us," Tabitha said, without looking up from her book.
…
Twenty-three Minutes Ago
Out in the blasted fens, the light of the blood moon shone down on a foetid landscape. The hulking shape of a dragon loomed out of the darkness, on the edge of the circle of light cast by torches carried by young heroes.
"Ah ha! Take that, foul beast! Oh wait, that's just a trunk." Danny's shoulders slumped. "Kirche," he whined. "There aren't any monsters yet!"
"There might still be monsters," Kirche said.
"The man said there were going to be monsters and there aren't any monsters! Kirche, I'm boooooooored. We're walking in circles! There's nothing out here! Can't we go back to the inn? My feet are wet and so are my breeches and I'm cold!""
"I'm bored too, Danny. But we just have to endure the boring bit so there are monsters and then fun things can happen."
"Mole," said Tabitha, nose still in her book. Very unfairly, she was sitting on her dragon and thus did not have wet feet.
"Tabby, we've been over this," Kirche said wearily, looking up at her. "Moles are not monsters. There's no need to skin them or pull all the blood out of their body or—"
"Non. Ze mole of Guiche, with a frog on its head." Tabitha pointed down, without looking away from her book.
And indeed, there was a mole half-protruding from the ground, with Montmorency's familiar sitting on it.
"Ah ha!" Kirche announced. "Surely this is some kind of message! Perhaps they've found something!"
The frog croaked.
"What's that, Robin?" Kirche said, listening attentively.
The frog ribbited.
"Monmon's been kidnapped?"
Another croak.
"And Guiche has been kidnapped again?"
A ribbit.
"They're being held by a wicked succubus?"
A concluding croak.
"Uh huh, uh huh." Kirche straightened up. "So, yeah. Monmon and Guiche've been kidnapped. Let's go save them."
"Again?" Tabitha said in a bored monotone. "Oh non."
"Yep. Come on, let's head back. Lead the way, Robin," she told Montmorency's familiar, as Guiche's mole leapt up onto Slyphid's back.
"Since when did you speak frog?" Danny asked sceptically.
"Dad taught me."
"Oh, right. Witches do turn him into a frog a lot, so I guess he'd learn their language." Danny sniffed. "I don't see what so many girls see in amphibians."
"Oh, I can think of one reason why you'd want a boyfriend with a very long and flexible tongue," Kirche said, grinning.
Danny looked blank.
Tabitha tilted her head. "Getting pickles out of ze jars?" she suggested.
"Yeah, sure thing, Tabby. Got it in one."
…
"And so we headed straight here and found the portal to the Abyss which led to your hide-out," Kirche said. "Now surrender, fiend of darkness!"
"Oh, godblessit," Izah'belya muttered. "I completely forgot about the familiars."
"A lot of people do," Kirche said, smirking. "I mean, apart from Tabby's dragon. Everyone remembers her for some reason."
Izah'belya focussed on the blue-haired girl riding the dragon. "Hey, wait a moment. Don't I know you from—"
Tabitha silently drew a line across her throat with her finger. So did her dragon.
Izah'belya swallowed. "—from somewhere? Oh yes. You thwarted my plans in Versailles. We have only met as enemies. Curse your Goodness."
"Yeah," Kirche agreed, "Tabby is good at thwarting the plans of Evil. You go, girl!"
Guiche, limping heavily and rather bruised, had made his way over to Montmorency and started undoing her gag.
"Guards! Guards! Izah'belya called out, falling back. The door slammed open and giant hulking shirtless demons came rushing in.
Tabitha happened to the guards.
"How about we talk?" Izah'belya suggested, a slightly traumatised look in her eyes. She had been close enough to get splattered with demonic ichor and the tattered remnants of her gown were now somehow even more ruined.
"How about you go stick your head up a cow's bottom?" Montmorency interjected, spitting out her gag. "Tabitha. Could you please—"
"Non," Tabitha said, slumped down in among the bodies. A strange and peculiar look of sadness was in her eyes as she stared desolately at one of her poniards, which had broken on the spine of a demon. "Zat was moi favourite."
"… fine," Montmorency said wearily. "Then, Kirche, if you would be so kind, burn that flipping demon to a crisp!"
"Oh, no, you don't want to do that," Izah'belya said quickly.
"I think I do," Kirche said.
"Yes, she really does," Monmon added.
"No, no, you don't want to do that. Because I have something you must know." Izah'belya smiled cruelly. "If only you knew the power of the Abyss. Your father never told you the truth," she said.
"He told me enough," Kirche said. "He told me the best two-hundred and seventeen ways to kill a demon. Honestly, I don't think the Abyss has much power. If it had any 'true power', Good wouldn't keep on winning."
Izah'belya looked vaguely nauseous. "No, I mean… not that truth. Anyway, it's not like you always win! We get a good fifty percent!"
"Then what truth?"
"Kirche," Izah'belya said portentously. "I am your mother."
Kirche frowned. "No you're not. You're my sister."
"Half-sister," Danny said, keeping his wand trained on the succubus. "No real brother or sister has tried to kill us." He paused. "Apart from Lucien once, but he was being mind-controlled and got better once Father punched him out."
"Yes, yes," Kirche said, waving away her brother's pedantry. "Either way, if you're expecting me to shout 'No' loudly, I'm afraid you're out of luck. I could do it if it'd help you feel better, but—"
"I'm your sister?" Izah'belya blurted out. "That's… that's impossible!"
"Look in a mirror. You'll know it to be true," Kirche said, and frowned. "How could you not know?"
"I don't know who my paternal relatives are! Mother never tells us that sort of thing!"
"Then what the hell were you trying to do?"
"Distract you so I could run away, of course! I mean, I could sense we had some blood in common, but I just assumed you had some succubus heritage some way back because of…" she nodded at Kirche's chest, "well, a lot of surface world noble families are related to us."
Kirche chuckled. "Oh dear, no. These babies are one hundred percent natural von Zerbst. Being descended from eastern steppes barbarian princesses does that. You've done nicely from that. No, you're just another one of Dad's bastards."
"There are a lot of them," Danny said wearily. "Remember the half-giant?"
"Oh yes, I cut his head off. Or the ghoul. Burned her to ashes when she tried to eat me. Or the three different half-demons who've tried to steal my soul. All dead, too. Hint. Hint," Kirche said meaningfully, glaring at Izah'belya.
"Hint hint," Danny added. He paused. "The half-dragon was really cute, though."
"Oh yes, she was adorable! Her tail was so fluffy!"
Izah'belya took a deep and somewhat shaky breath. "This… this changes things," she said quietly. "I… are you sure? I'm a von Zerbst bastard?"
"Can we not?" Monmon called out, as Guiche tried to undo her wrists. "This is not the time for family drama and sudden revelations of parentage. Look, just kill her."
"You sound surprised," Kirche said, one eyebrow raised as she firmly ignored Montmorency. "It's blatantly obvious. It always is."
"It's easy to see," Danny contributed, likewise ignoring Monmon. "You've got the right skin colour and your hair is pretty much the same colour as mine. And the features match, too."
"Although the really big clue is that you're clearly smarter than the average demon," Kirche said smugly. "That's a von Zerbst trait."
"What, really?" Izah'belya asked sceptically.
"Our family has spent hundreds of years bordering the de la Vallière family," Kirche said triumphantly. "And we've pillaged their ancestral home almost as many times as they've sacked ours. And our bloodline is still around, despite their recurring attempts to exterminate us."
"Sometimes they try to turn us into werewolves," Danny said brightly. "We've got pretty good at shaking off the infection, though."
"Yeah. I really don't get why they keep on trying that. Why would you want your ancient rivals to be turn into giant furry wolf monsters? Oh well. But seriously, how many other families can say that they've survived – and often beaten – the de la Vallières?"
Izah'belya thought about that, slow realisation dawning in her eyes. "You mean that sixth sense I have for when my sisters try to have me murdered…"
"That's a von Zerbst instinct, that is," Kirche said confidently, folding her arms. "Honed by generations of assassination attempts by one of the wickedest families in the world." She paused. "Some of it may come from the demon side too if your sisters try to murder you on a monthly basis," she conceded generously.
"Gosh. Also, it's more like a biweekly basis."
"There's another von Zerbst trait. You look like you're trying to smuggle a pair of cabbages under your dress," Montmorency contributed helpfully and also rather snidely.
"Montmorency!" Kirche said with mock horror. "Cease such ill-manners!"
"Well, then, kill her and we can get out of here! Your family drama and the fact your mutual father slept with some cheap succubus tart…"
"Excuse me!" Izah'bleya said, mightily offended. "My mother is the Queen of the Succubae and de-facto ruler of Hell, thank you very much! She is not cheap!"
"Oh, my apologies," Montmorency said. "So she's an expensive tart."
"Yes. That's more accurate."
"… you realise that's a bad thing?"
"When did I say I liked my mother?" Izah'belya said, honest confusion on her face.
"Oh, brother… well, sister, I can talk all day about that," Kirche said wearily. "Mine is a weak useless soggy piece of bread who spends all her time fainting, going on pilgrimages, being ill in bed and… well, generally she's a waste of space. Thank goodness I take after Father. I know exactly how you feel! They're just the same!"
"She tries to make me act like a girl," Danny muttered.
"Mine is the soul-eating queen of the Abyss who sets her children against each other, fighting for scraps of power so we're too busy warring against each other to plan a coup against her," Izah'belya said. She crossed her arms. "That's not the same."
"Details, details," Kirche said breezily. "It's the same in spirit."
"Stop arguing and flipping well let me go, you sugar-headed other-flippers!" Montmorency exploded. "Or I will… I will… argh!"
Izah'belya looked blank. "I'm… sorry? What did she say?"
Kirche sighed. "Tristainian women are so repressed. Cool your horses, Mons. Guiche, when are you going to get her free?"
"I can't undo these knots," Guiche called back. "They're done up really tight."
"I know they are!" Monmon shouted. "I'm losing circulation in my arms and legs here! It is not helping my mood!"
"Danny, pass me a knife. Wait, I don't need you to pass me a knife." Kirche pulled one out of her boot.
"They're expensive ropes. Could you please try to untie them?" Izah'belya said, expression pained. "Look, like I said, this changes everything. How about we get off set and have some coffee?"
"She's trying to tempt you!" Monmon wailed. "Stop bonding!"
"She's succeeding. I am tempted," Kirche said bluntly. "I mean, come on! It's well past midnight. I'm tired. Coffee sounds wonderful, thank you."
…
"My goodness," Kirche said cheerfully, sprawled out on a strange amorphous seat that resembled a stalk-less mushroom. She swirled her mug, and took another sip. "This is marvellous."
"Really? Because it's some of my personal… oh, wait, sorry, I misunderstood you there," Izah'belya said. She had acquired a fresh change of clothing, and sparkled in lavender – even if she winced whenever she moved her right side. Compared to her half-sister, she was rather tense. Perhaps it was because Monmon was sitting in the same room as her, stroking her wand.
"So you're… twenty four?" Kirche asked.
"Nearly twenty five," Izah'belya confirmed.
"Huh. So you weren't even the product of Father cheating on Mother," Kirche said in an utterly bored tone. "I was the product of Father impregnating a wealthy heiress whose family was powerful enough to make him actually marry her."
"I'm still kind of in shock to find I'm Blitzhart von Zerbst's daughter, in all honesty."
"You and about a fifth of the population of the world," Montmorency interjected.
"Look, it wasn't like kidnapping you was anything personal," Izah'belya said wearily.
"Oh no, she's always like that," Kirche shrugged. "Right, Danny?"
"Yes," he agreed. Danny jabbed his finger at Izah'belya. "And you won't get off that easy, even if you're yet another evil half-sister! You kidnapped Guiche! And look how badly beaten he is!"
Guiche shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't been able to put a shirt back on, because of how bruised he was. "She's a lot heavier than she looks. Especially when she's sitting on your chest," he said. "And she punches like a mule."
Tabitha looked up from her book. "Mules do not punch," she said informatively. "Zey keek, because zey are like 'orses."
"Thank you, Tabitha."
"I zought zat you needed to know."
"Yes, Tabitha."
"Mules don't matter!" Danny fumed. "What mattered is that Guiche is so bruised he can't wear a shirt!"
"Are little brothers like that?" Izah'belya asked Kirche softly. "Sorry, I don't have any – and all my half-sisters usually try to murder me."
"Well, you are Evil," Kirche said generously. "So how are things going with you? Me, I'm going to be graduating from the Academy of Magic soon, and… well, you know I'm also a Hero."
"Oh, isn't that one of the prestigious surface-world places?"
"Yes, it's fairly good. I got kicked out of a few Germanian schools for one reason or another…"
"You killed the son of the Emperor in a duel," Danny said flatly.
"That was not my fault! He challenged me and then tried to use a forbidden spell of dark soul-burning flame to win! What was I meant to do, not deflect it back in his face?"
Izah'belya's face had taken on the usual air of faint confusion that tended to afflict people who listened to the deeds of the von Zerbsts for any length of time. "You know, I think this explains so much about my life if this is what my father's side of the family is like," she said.
"That sounds like fun," Kirche said grinning. "Come on, do tell."
"Well, I mean, things have never been quite normal for me. Like, there was that time when I was fifteen when some of my elder sisters put an ancient snake-god in my dorm room to devour me."
"Ah, snake gods," Danny said wisely. "They're never as tough as they think they are."
"You've only killed one," Kirche pointed out. "And it wasn't very powerful."
"Kirche! Don't embarrass me!"
"I lured it down to the alchemy lab and used an illusion to trick it into devouring a cauldron of toxic waste," Izah'belya said proudly. "It melted through five basements."
"Niiiiiiiice," Kirche agreed. "And… uh, I notice Monmon is tapping her foot quite rapidly now."
"Oh? You noticed?" Montmorency said bitterly.
"Yes. I did. I was just ignoring it."
"Well, stop bonding with her and kill her!"
Izah'belya spread her hands. "How about we don't kill me?" she suggested. "Instead I might propose a formal apology from me, and… your clothes are rather ratty and unfashionable, you know. And I'm sure that Guiche and Montmorency could tell you things about how very comfortable my styles are."
Guiche shifted guiltily. "It may be the product of vile demonic depravity but this does fit very well."
"Actually, it's cotton," Izah'belya pointed out. "No demonic depravity was involved. That'd make it too expensive. And Montmorency! Dear sweet Montmorency!"
"Shut it."
"Would you not say that this dress of a poor kidnapped maiden is both figure-flattering and gorgeous to the eye? I'm particularly fond of how it implies certain things about your figure that are not, strictly speaking, true. Now that's quality tailoring."
"I will maim you. With knives."
"Notice how she didn't deny it."
"That is true," Kirche said, stroking her chin. "It does look fantastic on her. Wait one moment, Izzy. Everyone else, team huddle."
The heroes gathered around.
"Okay, I know what you're going to say, but those are very nice clothes," Kirche said quickly. "I think we could do a lot with them."
"She chipped one of my teeth," Guiche muttered.
"Look, I think there's still good in her. I think I can flip her. She's got so much Heroic blood that she's already killed a snake god," Kirche said, a note of desperation in her voice. "I don't want to have to kill her. Sure, she's a bit Evil, but only a bit. And it's not like she really hurt either of you in ways you can't heal."
"Well, I suppose, if we're trying to redeem her…" Guiche said slowly. "That's a noble goal."
"I don't care whether she lives or dies," Tabitha said.
"Great. So that's a yes from me and Guiche, an abstention from Tabby…"
"Well, I suppose, if Guiche doesn't want to kill her yet," Danny said reluctantly.
"Mons?"
"I think you just want to save her because the two of you are getting on unhealthily well," Montmorency accused.
"No, not at all," Kirche said, sounding hurt. "I truly believe she can be saved. But because I've been talking with her, I have noticed she's very rich. So you know, we could always ransom her back to herself."
Montmorency gritted her teeth. She opened her mouth and closed her mouth. "Just let me at her," she whispered after the internal conflict was resolved. "I got taken captive and dressed up in her depraved-yet-comfortable styles. I'll take her for every ecu she has. I'll bargain her down to the bone."
"Great show, Mons."
"Are you sure unleashing Monmon on someone when she's in a mood like this isn't a sin?" Guiche asked, concern in his voice.
"Hey!"
"My rose, I'm just saying that it might be considered cruel and unusual."
"Nah, not against a demon," Kirche confirmed. "Pope Sadius II confirmed that any form of violence against a demon was religiously acceptable."
"Wait," said Guiche. "Didn't he keep his predecessor chained in a basement?"
"Oh, Pope Masochismus VI felt that was good for the purification of the soul. Very holy man, very into penitence. He voluntarily withdrew to contemplate the divine, with the aid of the Scourging Nuns of the Barbed Dove."
"'Ow devoted," Tabitha said, nodding her head.
Montmorency cracked her knuckles. "Oh, she's going to pay for this. Literally. Pay lots and lots. Quite apart from the trauma and the inconvenience of the kidnapping, there's also the fact that my virtue was threatened by proximity to the creatures of the Abyss – which under church law is considered a mortal threat to chastity and so does not require any proof of ill intent – but there's also the fact that she threatened Guiche's virtue too. And then there's time wasted by being kidnapped, she's going to have to pay for that! And…"
"I think she's entering the happy place of money," Kirche said in a stage whisper.
"Shut up, Kirche," Montmorency snapped. "You're coming with me! Just in case she proves… resilient to my demands, I need you to make it very clear that she better value her life highly indeed!" She paused. "Tabitha, you too. Your dragon can threaten to eat her."
…
And so it was that after much hard bargaining and occasional threats that a succubus would be eaten by a dragon if she didn't do what they said that the brave heroes escaped from the hellish vistas of the Abyss, heavily laden down with treasure and with several new outfits. Kirche burned down the inn as punishment for consorting with Evil and also making them waste their time wading around in a fen, and then they set off, clanking noticeably.
"So, we may not have stopped any great evil plot – even if we did destroy all her pictures of Guiche only in his underwear," she concluded, judiciously not mentioning the master copies hidden in her bags, "but I think we all learned a valuable lesson here."
"That your father will sleep with anything with two legs, even the Queen of the Succubae, ruler of the Abyss?" Montmorency suggested.
"Nah, didn't learn that. I knew that already."
"Zat demon spines can break moi poniard's point?" Tabitha said, shoulders hunched in mourning.
"… well, yes, but…"
"That succubae punch very hard and nearly dislocated my arms, so you shouldn't grapple them?" tried Guiche.
"Yes, that's true. But what, I think, we really learned is that it's possible to solve your problems by talking things out with your foes, rather than resorting to violence," Kirche said.
She was the target of four stares. Tabitha's nose was in her book, so her dragon stared for her.
"That's what Guiche does all the time," Danny said rudely. "You're just happy because you bonded with our evil succubus half-sister."
"And made lots of money and got some great new clothes out of it," Kirche agreed. "This was a brilliant night."
Falling back in the column, Guiche reined his horse in beside Montmorency. The lunar eclipse had passed and so both moons shone down upon them. "Monmon," he began.
"When we were drugged," she said softly. "My memory of the conversation is all woozy. What do you remember of it?"
Guiche thought for a while as they rode. "I don't remember a thing," he said, eventually.
"Are you sure?"
They rode on a little further in silence.
"I could maybe remember some of it. If you wanted me to put some more thought into it," he said, voice low.
"Oh." Her shoulders slumped. "I… I don't know if I want you to," she said, voice cracking. "Did… did you… did you mean what you said there? In… down there. When she was sitting on you? All… wanton and lewd?"
The red moonlight revealed Guiche's blush. "I meant every word," he said quietly. "Monmon, you are my rose – and like the rose, you have lots of thorns. I… I would hold you close for the rest of my life, even if it made me bleed."
"You… you idiot." Her words were barely spoken, more mouthed than anything. "Why would you say that out loud?"
He leaned back on his saddle, wincing from the bruises. "Today, I had a succubus sit on me and try to crush my will so I would stop fighting back," he said, speaking to the open air and not looking at her. "I clung to the thought of you like a drowning man does to floating timber. To the thought that you were right there, watching – and if I did what I desperately wanted to, you would see it all. Because I did want to do what she said. I wanted to do everything she said. I wanted to lay there and go limp. But… you were there. Watching. You're not as pretty as her. You're… you know, not a lust demon. But you're you and what I feel about you… I know the difference between that and what that demon tried to fake."
There was a choked sob to his side. "You idiot. Why… why do you have to feel that now? Why do you have to tell me?"
"Because it's the truth."
Without words, Montmorency spurred her horse on, leaving Guiche trailing behind the others. The moonlight glistened in his tears.
…
With a sigh and somewhat of a flounce, the demon princess Izah'belya collapsed back into her exceedingly comfy swivel throne behind her desk. From her top-floor office, she could look over Los Diablos whenever she felt like it. She seldom wished to. Quite apart from the thick smogs and smokes that meant that visibility was frequently near-nothing, the general appearance of the aerial view of the city on a good day put her in mind of what happened when a goat ate something that didn't agree with it.
Honestly, if it wasn't for the status she would have situated her head office somewhere a lot more practical and which meant she didn't have a hundred storey elevator ride every morning.
That had certainly been a day. Yes. Urgh. She had far too little coffee in her to deal with this. That was her journal ruined. And then there was that aggravating blonde girl with her damnable stupid ringlets. What kind of… of monster bargained like that? That girl was more penny-pinching than a blessed avarice demon!
Slumping down, Izah'belya let the illusion of hooves fall from her feet, and slipped out of her high heels. And her feet were killing her. This was the price for looking so human that she could slip through most wards against demons and break bindings with force of will. Almost no one in the Abyss could design comfortable shoes, and most farriers baulked at the idea of footwear that didn't involve hammering metal into your foot.
Leaning over, she picked up one of the little bells on her desk and rang it. "Lilly, I need a black coffee and… and many things that are sweet and sugary! Got it?" she spoke into the chiming metal. "And I don't care if it ruins my diet!"
She had tried to find Lilly a job that best made use of her skills, but unfortunately she didn't exactly have many marketable skills in the Abyss. While she gave anything she believed in one hundred and ten percent, one hundred and ten percent of a not very large number was still not very large. And when she'd tried to give her a role managing public relations, she'd run into the problem that Lilly wasn't willing to engage in negative campaigning.
So in the end, after she'd fired her tenth PA this year for general incompetence, attempting to betray her, and being incompetent at betraying her, she'd had a revelation. As she watched the corpse char, she'd realised that at least if she had Lilly do it, she wouldn't have any more inept attempts to murder her.
Placing the bell down, she put her bare feet up on her desk, pouting. After a little bit of brooding, she picked the bell up again. "Also, I need the current genealogical reports on the von Zerbst family and profiles on the currently active family members," she ordered. "I'm pretty sure that blessed hero that just thwarted me was one of them!"
Pulling out the agreements she had signed with each member of the group, she reviewed them while chewing on a lock of hair. Yes, she really had come out the poorer for dealing with them. But that was just a minor irritation. She could afford those losses. Indeed, she'd take them willingly for the truth about her father.
And not just her father. There were two younger succubae with similar features to her, human feet and very underdeveloped horns. Izah'belya was all but sure that they were her full sisters, and she always kept an eye out for them. She knew how hard it was to make your way through life when your horns were barely more than nubs protruding from your skull. Even though modern occultism had conclusively demonstrated that the 'classic' features were just a phenotypical expression of the underlying demonic soul which could express itself to a greater or lesser extent, people still believed the old rubbish that a succubus who could nearly pass as human was 'weak blooded'. Pah!
Blitzhart von Zerbst. Well, well, well. Her father had not only survived her mother once, but had come back for more at least twice. And, from what she understood of the surface, he was still alive. She'd never heard of someone enduring that. So much for 'weak-blooded'. There were demon princes her mother had drained to shrivelled husks. Izah'belya had a pet theory her mother did that by lecturing them about how they were 'too greedy and not lustful enough' and 'weren't dutiful daughters', but that might be just her own personal experience speaking.
That a mere human would not only survive, but come back for more… she shook her head. What an indomitable man. She took silent pride in the strength of her newfound heritage, even if it was tragically Heroic.
Her door bumped open, and Lilly made her way through, pushing a trolley. Momentarily distracted. Izah'belya took a moment to gloat at her success with the elf. She'd finally managed to get her to accept that spiderweb stockings and all that black was never going to work when she was plump and self-conscious about her appearance. Instead, she had coaxed Lilly into throwing out her entire wardrobe and letting Izah'belya replace everything. And that meant there were fewer handkerchiefs tied together with dental floss and more figure-flattering blouses and leather jackets made from the skin of the damned.
Lilly still wore too much spider-themed jewellery and enough eyeliner to drown an imp, but Izah'belya's dark schemes had not yet reached their culmination.
"I… uh, well, I knew you'd had a hard day on the surface world," Lilly chattered away, "so I made sure that your coffee was soul-black, which is just the way you like it when you're suffering dimension-lag. You luckily just arrived when I had a fresh batch of cupcakes coming out. And I made albinis which are a new thing I'm trying out – they're sort of like brownies only rather than being made from brownies they're made from albino brownies who aren't really brown but—"
Surprisingly, Lilly was the best PA she'd ever had. Quite apart from the lack of murder attempts, she actually understood that when an up-and-coming ambitious demoness was having a hard day the last thing she needed was additional stress. She was fairly efficient at things like fetching coffee and actually cared about things like eco-friendly brands and getting the right kinds of milk, which mattered a lot when you were infernolactose intolerant and so needed milk from surface cows. They were not demons, despite having hooves and horns. That had confused all her previous PAs.
Also, she baked really wicked cupcakes. And decorated them with little spider patterns and pumpkins with a frowny face.
Izah'belya took her coffee thankfully. "Did you get the reports?"
"Yes, they're tucked under… um, oh, there they are, under the plate with the cupcakes on."
Extracting the documentation and brushing off crumbs, Izah'belya began to review the lineage of her newfound family. They were disgustingly heroic, all in all. Not only did they have hundreds of years of experience at thwarting the dark plans of the de la Vallière family and also stealing their lovers, but in between warring with one of the most evil families in Halkeginia and continually failing to die, they also found the time to run around the place slaying dragons, demons, and generally being walking disaster areas to the forces of Evil. There were a few werewolves and the like in the family tree, often due to de la Vallière conniving, but they were usually cured by… urgh, the power of love. Dark gods, the past few generations seemed to recover from lycanthropy after a few weeks' bed rest!
Swirling her coffee, Izah'belya sighed. Her heroic heritage was potentially even more embarrassing than Jez'sika's. Well, she'd need to make sure this never got out, or she'd never hear the end of it from her gender-challenged cousin. She'd also need to watch herself for any heroic urges. That would be problematic, and might get her some murder attempts from her half-sisters. They did that anyway, but they might try harder if they thought they could get away with it by claiming she was going to betray the Abyss to the forces of Light.
"So, uh. How b-badly did it go?" Lilly asked her gingerly, hovering by the trolley.
"It could have gone better," Izah'belya said, trying to look on the dark side of things. She remembered herself, and focussed back on work. "That is to say, I have devised a brand new business opportunity. I believe we can exploit the forces of Light through a diversified portfolio of accoutrements and fashion solutions. Through an amoral policy of fiscal maximisation and sacrifices to the demon-lord Kapetaal, I shall profit beyond measure, attaining a cross-morality dominant market position. Moreover, the public relations opportunities may allow a position for potential corruption of hostile interests and their subversion without excess risk or exposure."
"Uh…"
Izah'belya remembered who she was talking to and rephrased her answer without invoking the Blackest Art. "I think we can make money by selling clothes and armour to heroes as well as villains. Their money spends just as well as anyone else's. And if I get them thinking that I'm 'not so bad', they won't try to kill me then."
"Oh." Lilly shifted over to the desk, and started sorting books. "I g-guess that makes sense."
"Yes, it does," Izah'belya said smugly. It was quite a bad post-facto rationalisation for everything. "And I must say, Guiche de Gramont was quite handsome for all that he," she shifted uncomfortably, wincing, "punches hard. Suitably corrupted, he might make quite a wicked consort for a while." She tapped her finger against her lips. "Honestly, I could always try corrupting him later and try before I buy, if you know what I mean."
"Try… uh, b-before you buy his soul?" Lilly said, blushing bright red.
"I suppose I could do that too," Izah'belya said. "Hmm. I need to find you a consort, too."
Lilly contrived to redden further, until it looked like she was trying to blend into the sky outside. "Th-th-there's no n-n-need to…"
Quirking an eyebrow, Izah'belya looked at her PA over the top of her cupcake. "You're in your forties and you're still a virgin. Girl, you need to live a little more. There's more to life than baking and spiders."
"H-h-how d-do you know—"
The succubus raised her eyebrows at that comment, the corners of her mouth quirking up wickedly.
"I'm… I'm… I'm only f-forty f-four and that's still young, t-too…"
"Nah, I've seen your friends," Izah'belya said knowingly. "None of them have your particular metaphysical state. You're just repressed. And—"
But what she was about to say was interrupted by the mirror on Izah'belya's desk chiming. She glanced at it, and went pale under her tan.
"My mother," she hissed, yanking her bare feet off the table. Lilly squeaked. "Let down the drapes!" Izah'belya ordered, scrabbling in her desk drawer for her tiara as she threw up an illusion exaggerating the size of her horns and removing all the signs that she had only just got back from the surface and hadn't had time to put fresh makeup on. "Eye-candy! Get in here!"
A troupe of shirtless oiled-up hunky demons filed in, and started posing against the backdrop. Behind her, Lilly fought with lowering the drapes carefully embroidered with lurid imagery. Taking a moment to bite her lips to redden them, Izah'belya checked that Lilly couldn't be seen from the mirror and then answered the call.
"Oh, Izah'belya, darling," said the Succubus-Queen, her face appearing on the mirror. The de facto ruler of the Abyss was a figure to break hearts. Her skin was as flawless as porcelain and inhumanly milk-pale. Izah'belya now knew she looked Germanian, but her mother resembled a race long since dead, slain six thousand years ago by terrible magics. Long artfully done blonde hair cascaded around her gilded horns. Behind her, powerful bat-wings filled the reflection.
Of course, Izah'belya knew for a fact that there was a lot of magic and no small amount of surgery that went into keeping her mother looking like she was young enough to be her sister, but that was just one of the privileges of power. Someday she'd seize that much power for herself.
"Mother and all-mighty queen," Izah'belya said. "Your majesty, for you to speak to your humble servant and daughter is an honour I do not deserve."
"Of course you don't, darling," her mother said with an empty giggle. "But I just heard you were back and I had to just see you. Are you doing badly, my baby?"
Izah'belya tried not to frown. She'd be scolded for giving herself wrinkles. She had tried to keep her transit off the records. Did that indicate that her mother had spies within her organisation that she didn't know about? "I am feeling entirely malevolent, mother, and I am pleased to say that I am your majesty's humble servant."
"Oh, thank you darling. By the way, I love the eye-candy. It's so good to see my little girl paying attention to the things in life that really matters."
"Thank you, mother."
"But, Izzy, darling. A little birdy told me that you'd run into Guiche de Gramont and his little band of insufferable do-gooders. That rascal's been a pain in the neck, ever since he first showed up. Did you know his genius and cunning in defeating Fouquet meant I didn't get certain gorgeous little things I was hoping she'd acquire from the Tristainian Academy of Magic?"
"Such a hateful hero," Izah'belya said, dutifully. If she was to be quite honest, the story of how he managed to defeat Fouquet made him even more attractive – and since then, he'd grown up in even more interesting ways. "Indeed, mother. I have a malevolent plan to corrupt him and claim his soul."
"Such a wicked little girl," her mother cooed. Her face hardened. "But no."
"No?" Izah'belya echoed. "M-mother? I… I don't understand."
"Of course not, darling. It's mother's job to do the thinking. You just need to do what mother tells you to. Izzy, darling, you are not to involve yourself with Guiche de Gramont or any of his associates. I'm just so worried about you. He's just too dangerous."
Izah'belya deliberately pouted. "But mother. I want him," she said as behind the mask of a bad little succubus her mind whirred.
"I know you do, darling. But it's for your own safety. A vigorous, powerful man like him – and his deadly female compatriots – might just be too much for you to handle. You're only twenty-four, Izzy. You're still mummy's little girl. So you won't go near him, or any of his associates. Will you?"
With a grand sigh, Izah'belya met her mother's violet eyes. "No, your majesty," she said.
"There's my little girl," said the Succubus Queen. "Now, Izzy, darling, next time I'm in town we'll need to do lunch and you can tell me everything you've been doing. But I really have my next appointment soon," she giggled, "and my, he looks tasty. I'm going to ruin him for any other woman."
"Yes, mother."
"Bye-bye." The image in the mirror essayed a little wave. "Be seeing you!" Her mother vanished from the mirror, and Izah'belya slumped forwards. She was shaking faintly, as all the nervous tension escaped her.
Lilly escorted the posing oiled-up hunks out of the office, then took off her jacket and wrapped it around her boss' shoulders. "Oh dear. That was a h-hard one," she said softly. "She was even n-nicer than usual."
"I know," Izah'belya muttered into surface of her desk. "She only acts nice when she's angry." Hugging herself, she tried to repress her shivers. "I… I think I was a few poorly chosen words from her showing up in person. I've never seen her that furious before."
"Poor you. D-do you want another cupcake? You'll need to lift your head up."
Izah'belya shifted so her chin was propped up on the desk. "Is your mother like that at all?"
Lilly looked surprised. "Uh, well, she's an, um, an elven lady. And my f-father is a S-Senator, so she's always p-perfect and h-hosts his c-campaign dinners."
"She never implicitly threatens to kill you if you disobey her?"
"Uh…"
"What did you think 'keep away from him for your own safety' meant?" Izah'belya asked morosely.
"Oh. Uh, no. No, um, implicit threats. She'd just kill m-me herself and have the h-help dispose of the body quietly because of the… uh, whole 'Dark Elf' thing," Lilly said frankly. "It would h-hurt my father's re-election efforts if there was a scandal about m-me, while a d-dead daughter is good PR. I remember her burying one of my cousins down in the garden because it was about to come out that he was the Starry Skies Killer."
"Oh yes, your mother is Good," Izah'belya said. "I'd forgotten about that."
"So… uh. You should probably listen to your m-mother?" Lilly suggested. She paused. "You're not going to, are you?"
"Why would I disobey her?" Izah'belya said, trying to be calm. "I'm a bad girl."
Given the revelation that she was half-Hero, this entitled her to use Good language occasionally. When it benefitted her. Because she suspected that it wasn't Guiche de Gramont that she was being warned away from. Plenty of her half-sisters had been lavished with praise by Mother for seducing various Heroes – and plenty more had been killed by their targets and Mother never shed a tear.
No, what she suspected Mother was trying to keep her away from was her half-siblings, the von Zerbsts. And that made Izah'belya curious. Mother always worked to stop her daughters from finding out who their fathers were. She wanted them to consider themselves succubae exclusively. Was she so paranoid that Izah'belya might defect to the forces of Light at the drop of a hat? Just because she found out she was a von Zerbst?
Pathetic. She'd corrupt all those heroes to her service on the sly and present it as a fait accompli. Her mother would have to accept it. She'd show her.
…
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