Wanted: Undead or Alive

Smart And Apocalyptic

"What's a kikimora?"

Blessedly, he didn't tease me. He just gave me a straight answer. "House spirit."

"Good spirit or bad spirit?" I asked.

"House spirits are neither innately good or bad. They absorb the energy of the home's occupants."

Girl spent her life surrounded by demons and ruthless capitalists. "So, a bad spirit."

"Yeah, most likely.".

"What about the rest of them? Their names don't sound human."

"It's a diverse group. Benny is the owner, of course. He's a human who's well-known for using his impressive cash flow to buy influence with the supes. His wife, Nadine, is a succubus."

"A succubus married him?"

He grunted. "Did I mention how impressive the cash flow is?"

I hunted supernatural criminals because it paid better than tourism and hospitality. Who was I to judge? "That makes two demons and a spirit. Are they all non-human?"

"Mostly. Reiko is the head maid. She's a human married to Kohaku. He's a Japanese speed weasel."

I choked on my laughter. "A speed weasel?"

"Don't underestimate him. They're wicked smart and faster than you can dream of." He spread a piece of tape over an unusually large print and pressed it onto a page in the book he'd laid open nearby. "There's another demon, Ford's mate, Marcie. She's the cook. Manbar and Fenssa are the gardener and second maid. They're garden gnomes."

That actually stopped me in my tracks. "Seriously?"

"What?"

"Little people? Long beards? Shovels and pointy red hats?"

A chuckle vibrated deep in his barrel-like chest. "You got it."

"You're screwing around with me."

"I am not."

I sighed. "This is going to be a mess."

He glanced pointedly back at the bloody disaster. The implication was clear. It was already a mess of truly epic proportions.

***

Once we'd examined every inch of the room and the hall, taken ten thousand photographs from every conceivable angle, and left a trail of black magnetic powder from one end of the mansion to the other, we asked Ford, who'd lurked near the top of the staircase throughout our time there, to take us to Joseph Benny. The demon led us to a room tucked in the back corner of the house. He knocked twice and a soft tenor voice called for us to come in.

Benny sat behind a modern steel and glass table in a modern steel and glass office that was, in every way, at odds with the rest of the house, which was full of fussy antiques. He stood when we entered. He was half a foot taller than me and half a foot shorter than Moose, with mousy brown hair turning to a washed out silver at the temples. His clothes smelled like money and just from looking at it, I knew his watch cost more than my car. Not that my car cost all that much, really, but it was the most valuable thing I owned, so I had nothing else for comparison. The heavy scent of burnt sage hung in the air. Interesting choice for a guy married to a sex demon.

"Thank you both for your hard work," he said in a tone that reeked of practiced sincerity.

"We have some questions for you, Mr. Benny," Moose said.

Benny nodded. "Of course, please, sit down."

The chairs in front of the desk were made of shiny silver metal and clear acrylic. Moose's creaked ominously when he lowered his bulk into it. I perched on the edge of mine and folded my hands primly over the equipment bag on my lap. "What can you tell us about Aglaope?"

"She's a siren. Was a siren."

Thank you, Captain Obvious. "How did she come to work for you?"

"She had a similar position in the household of Persephone. Not chauffeur, of course, but there is more to the job than driving the car. After quite some time, she grew tired of the world of the gods and wished to walk among humans."

Maybe some day having the names of gods casually dropped into conversation would cease to phase me. I hadn't reached that point yet. "Forgive me for being impertinent, but there aren't many humans in your house."

"More than in Persephone's, most days."

Okay. That was fair. I didn't know all the details of Persephone's story, but I knew enough to know her house was probably populated by gods and ghosts most of the time.

"Who reached out to who about employment?" Moose asked.

"She contacted me. Or, more accurately, Ford."

"And was she a good chauffeur?" I asked.

"Adequate. I had no complaints."

"Did she have complaints?" Moose asked.

"If she did, she did not raise them to me."

"We have reason to believe she was upset about something in the days or hours before her death. Do you know what it might have been?" I asked.

"I'm sorry. I do not. I don't keep close relations with the staff, generally speaking."

With my thumb, I fiddled with the snap on my bag. "Mr. Benny, do you believe Nick killed Aglaope?"

"No. I do not."

Moose and I both sat back in our chairs.

"Why not?" Moose asked.

"It's not his style," the billionaire said.

My co-worker and I exchanged a glance.

"What is Nick's style, do you think?" I asked.

He steepled his manicured hands in front of his chin. "I don't know him personally, but based on reputation, I'd say he'd do something smart and most likely apocalyptic."

"Who do you think did it?" Moose asked.

"The hope is that the two of you will figure that out for me. I cannot have scandal in this house. I have a business to run."

Yes, nothing worse than the untimely demise of another living creature to put a damper on business. "I'm sure we'll have further questions as we perform our investigation. Is there a number we can reach you at?"

He scrawled his phone number on a piece of thick, creamy ivory paper and passed it across the desk to us. "Best of luck, detectives."

"Agents," I said, not sure why the misnomer bothered me so much.

He rose to shake hands over the desk, and Moose and I did the same.