Demon Groundhog Day - Chapter 3

Nobody knew why or how the fae had found their way to Earth―at least, no humans had credibly claimed to know. If the fae themselves knew, which they presumably did, they weren’t the slightest bit forthcoming with such information, not that it would behoove them to be. Regardless, the fae arrived first; they did so with contracts and innovations and magic and synergy. They built towering skyscrapers that defied the already outlandish architecture of the day, and to match, they found new ways of exploiting people that defied even the actually quite landish brutal capitalism of the day. Even during that early period, what had once been San Francisco was already suffocating under the weight of a newer, shinier, fancier, worse city being built atop it. Not that San Francisco had been a particularly nice city near the end. If gentrification had had a face, the hairs on it’s chin would have been the Golden Gate Bridge, the crooked hairpin turns of Lombard Street would have formed its laugh lines, Nob Hill, Russian Hill and their myriad ilk would have been its bulging acne, pustulant with excessive opulence.

Still, all things must end. And so T’eas Velvet was built atop San Francisco's dying remains. After that, the old city didn’t matter much at all to the people who actually did matter. So the city beneath the city became a sort of haven for people who didn’t want to live at the mercy of hypercapitalism taken to its most absurd extreme. Freedom at the cost of stability, security, or at least at the cost of the illusion of those things. It wasn’t nice, but for those who couldn’t make it up above, there was a life of dignity to carve out. Then demons happened. Again, if there was ever any concrete reason for the arrival of demons on Earth, nobody clued in its native population. But like the relative everyone secretly hoped wouldn’t show up, minus any expectation at all, demons burst onto the scene and turned an already tense situation to utter chaos.

Conflict broke out almost immediately. Whether by coincidence or design, most demons appeared in the lower districts, but many still appeared in central and upper T’eas Velvet. The first few weeks were characterized by non-stop fighting between the encroaching demons and the fae assisted by their human “allies.” When the dust of the initial fighting cleared, the demons had retreated downward to lick their wounds and circle their wagons, imposing their dominance on the denizens of lower T’eas Velvet in the process. Ever since, the war had been marked by an uneasy ceasefire sporadically broken by occasional brief flare-ups in the form of skirmishes or isolated attacks conducted by rogue agents on both sides.

None of that particularly mattered to Riley. The hows and whys and whens didn’t really change the what―which was, of course, to track down and kill a troublesome succubus. The only takeaway that really affected her at the moment was simply this: even before the demons had arrived, what had once been San Francisco was a neglected and at times even decaying place. As such, when Riley stepped out of the old mildew-ridden taxi, and checked in to the run-down motel which would become her home for the foreseeable future, she had much to lament, namely an uncomfortable bed and a stuffy room that smelled of stale cigarettes which had almost certainly been lit after a night of per-hour purchased passion. She lay her work-duffel upon her bed, and didn’t bother to unpack it. Time was of the essence, and San Francisco was, believe it or not, a big place. The subsect of San Francisco known as Byzantium was Riley’s only lead, unfortunately that spanned nearly four square miles of space. From the ruined towering offices of the financial district to the bustling red light district which had once been Castro, up to the polluted acidic piers of Fisherman’s Wharf and down to the sprawling reclaimed residential Mission District, Byzantium was ostensibly all the places which people would have thought of in the old days if one were to mention San Francisco.

Point being, if Riley wanted to find this Zarine, she’d need to do some sleuthing. It was late, close to eleven; in other words, Riley had arrived at the perfect time to stick her head where it didn’t belong and hope for the best. She stared at herself in the flickering fluorescent light of her motel bathroom, scrutinizing herself through a cracked and dirty mirror, and decided she was presentable enough to maybe get some answers out of someone who wanted to talk to her. As for those who didn’t feel like talking, she could always turn on the scare factor later. For no other reason but to indulge herself, Riley flashed a grin at the mirror, more baring her teeth than anything, then licked her lips and winked as she tucked a strand of her chin-length hair, dyed jet black, behind her ear. All else aside, seeing herself in the mirror as opposed to whatever stranger she’d once been could brighten even the shittiest of days.

Steel-toed platform combat boots thudded against the pavement. A white blazer which billowed and flowed into a cloak fluttered in the wind. Crimson skin-tight slacks slid across Riley’s smooth thighs. A pair of sunglasses which one could barely even pretend were big enough to actually keep out the sun―not that keeping out the sun was a problem in the perpetual smoggy dusk of lower T’eas Velvet―hugged the bridge of her nose. She looked ridiculous. But Riley also looked like the exact sort of guileless upper class brat with far more money than personality who thought she was the hottest of shit. The sort of girl who might decide it would be funny to piss off her parents by visiting Byzantium so she could learn what demon vagina tasted like―for those curious, demons tasted pretty much the same as humans: sometimes salty or metallic, a little sour, kind of like someone had sneezed on a battery. As much as Riley would rather not be caught dead in such a getup, it beat the hell out of roaming the streets looking like a huntress.

All around her, sounds of the living night crashed and caterwauled. Tucked under an overhang, a rowdy group of ‘tourists’ who looked to be from central T’eas Velvet loudly complained about something absolutely indiscernible through their slurred speech; they punctuated each sentence with a smashed bottle or well placed kick to the building’s rusted gate. Across the street what appeared to be an orc prostitute argued with a prospective client, her voice barely audible over the din of thumping dance-music which poured from an adjacent office-building turned nightclub. In an alleyway, two men sat together on a pair of wine-crates, sharing a bottle of wine and a private moment together. Parked on the side of the road was a food hawker selling noodles and shitty beer; the scent of meat frying with garlic, onions and chilis wafted in the air, mercifully overpowering the ambient acrid smell of gasoline, smog and garbage. The sounds of shouting, the occasional firework or perhaps gunshot, and the indiscernible cacophony of music from the myriad of nearby nightlife establishments served as the evening’s ambiance.

These streets were relatively unfamiliar to Riley. Lower T’eas Velvet was always changing, shifting, growing and contracting. It was far more alive than the stagnant opulence of the upper districts or the decaying beast that was the middle districts. Much of what had once been the thriving city of San Francisco was in the process of restoration and reclamation after being reduced to rubble in some attack or skirmish. Admittedly, this left her somewhat paralysed with choice. But on her way down, Riley had pored over the dossier her employers had supplied, and at least managed to glean one bit of useful information. Zarine had made a bit of a name for herself, a real heartbreaker, someone who had drunk and fucked her way through half of Byzantium. At the very least, if Riley asked around, it would only be a matter of time before someone had seen her. So she trusted her gut, and picked a bar.

At the end of the street, near a four-way intersection, a set of stairs led down into the underground. A sign hanging over the stairway simply read “BAR ADERO;” given that Riley would need to literally walk around the stairway to avoid this particular spot, she decided this was as good a place as any to check out. She descended the flight of stairs, and found herself in a large, open underground room. The interior was dimly lit by a surprisingly tasteful chandelier, and a series of wall mounted colored lights which reflected dully off worn, cracked pavement. The upper floor of Bar Adero formed a sort of rectangle, with booths lining the walls and a repurposed ticket booth serving as a small bar. It was mostly deserted, save a middle-aged demon man with long digitigrade legs ending in scaly, taloned feet, who leaned against a railing, gazing down upon the lower floor with a lit cigarette in one hand and a murky cocktail in the other.

Down a second flight of stairs was what seemed to be the more popular area of the bar. It still didn’t have an abundance of patrons, but at least some of the tables were full. At the far end from where Riley had descended lay an uncleared pile of rubble from some cave in or other. A stage and microphone had been erected in front of the pile, and upon it stood a demoness, humming a slow, melancholy tune. She was quite gorgeous; smooth ash-colored skin reflected the light around her, and luminescent green eyes shone in the darkness. Her long, straight black hair hung loosely, just long enough to cover her bare breasts; wide hips gave way to plump thighs; her legs were folded and hung in mid air, supported by the rest of her.

See, there was this thing about demons; anyone who paid attention could tell they were hardly homogenous in the same way fae were. Riley had a hunch that “demon” was a term which actually applied quite broadly to a coalition of many different races which just so happened to all align themselves against a common fae enemy. That wasn’t exactly a theory Riley was particularly passionate about, but she had her suspicions. All that was to say, simply, that demons got weird sometimes. And this particular demoness had the body of a massive spider where otherwise her ass would have been. Eight additional long, spindly legs were attached to a thick, shiny black carapace and did all work of supporting her weight. Wistfully, Riley leaned against the wall and took a moment to enjoy the ambience she created. She listened to the creeping rise and fall of the singer’s tone, took in the sight of her, felt the heat of her gaze as it swept over her audience. When the song ended, Riley casually strolled to the bar, which just so happened to be built into a hollowed-out cross section of a subway-train car. Standing amongst a myriad of bottles and taps and the like was an orc man wearing an apron polishing a glass.

He was stout, with rust-colored skin and bare bulging arms coated in thick, coarse hair. Arms like that were likely as much a deterrent for troublemakers as they were an attraction for certain clientele. In place of hair on his head, he had several horns which clung to his scalp and followed the curve of his skull back and around behind his head, even looping all the way back around for those which found room to grow around and under his jaw and ears. As Riley approached, his eyes caught hers, and he nodded coolly. “Miss.” Riley replied with a silent nod of her own. “Welcome to the Embarcadero.”

Realization dawned on her. “Ah.”

“Hmm?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Nothing, just now putting two and two together. Didn’t realize I was walking into an old BART station when I came in.”

“I see. Well can I get you anything?”

“I dunno, anything strong enough to make flirting with her seem like not such a terrifying idea?” She bobbed her head toward the now silent stage.

Chuckling, the orc reached beneath the bar and poured Riley a shot of something clear with a smell that incidentally made her sinuses nearly just as clear as the liquor itself; she’d need to inspect her nostrils for singed hairs later. Before the bartender could make some snappy comment at the face she’d likely made, Riley tossed the shot back in a single motion, then slammed it back on the bar. Needless to say, it was disgusting. “The fuck was that?” she spat, less at the bartender and more at the drink itself.

“We distill our own spirits down here. They don’t have quite the same smoothness as the stuff up top. Still, I’m impressed you could handle it at all. What brings you to Byzantium. Miss…?” For a moment, Riley contemplated coming up with some BS alias, but really if this man cared enough to find out who she was, the tech to do so easily was available.

“Riley,” she answered. “I’m looking for someone, a succubus. She has a bit of a reputation; her name is Zarine.”

“Oh dear,” came a silky, feminine voice from somewhere above Riley. Her gaze followed the sound; along the subway wall, barely visible and wrapped in shadows, crawled the spider-demoness who had been performing only moments ago. Slowly, she drifted down on a thread of spider-silk, before landing lightly behind the bar. “So another poor human girl from upstairs got her heart stolen by Zarine, eh?”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” Riley did her best to remain cool and aloof, but, admittedly, the demoness was only more gorgeous and more intimidating up close.

She skittered forward, leaning in close and resting her elbows on the bar. “Well then, I think you and I can help each other out.”