Trees gave way to bricks as we entered the city, black smoke belching from the furnaces around us.

  I glanced at Fred beside me, my head still resting against the window. “Did they say what the job is this time?”

  “Succubus.”

  “You mean the seductive kind?”

  “Most likely.”

  My heart began to race. “The one that does... hm, things, to you before they kill you?”

  “Almost certainly.”

  It wouldn’t be beyond Fred to allow himself to be seduced to catch the succubus. My eyes kept darting back to him.

  He looked unfazed, which only made things worse.

  “Can we refuse the job?” I blurted out without thinking.

  Fred frowned. “Why would we do that?”

  I gasped. The bastard’s planning to get seduced.

  “Well, I wasn’t being serious, but you just confirmed my hypothesis. I won’t help you with this, just so you know.”

  “Huh?”

  I crossed my arms and looked away. “Hmpf!”

  The carriage bounced on the cobblestones some more until we stopped. Savio cried out from the driver’s seat. “We’re here!”

  I stepped outside. “Thank you, Savio.”

  Marble columns rose above me as I turned, long arched windows, white walls. Quite the ballroom. There were already some cops on the sidewalk.

  Fred rounded the carriage and went straight to the entrance.

  An officer barred his way. “Wait, Frederick. Something happened after I called you.”

  Eh? The cops called us?

  “What is it, George?”

  “It’s Sergeant Cornell.”

  Do they know each other?

  Fred gave him the fakest sheepish smile I’ve ever seen, didn’t even try.

  Sergeant Cornell shook his head. “The situation that’s been happening here was reported somewhere else in the city.”

  “What’d you mean?”

  “Same descriptions. Similar victims. The difference is—it’s been a while since the last one here, but the body is still warm over there. I’m afraid more people will die if we don’t tackle that.”

  Fred shrugged. “Then shut down this ballroom, and we’ll go there first. You’re a bloody Sergeant now, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t.”

  Fred’s eyebrow arched, waiting for an explanation.

  Cornell clicked his tongue. “There’s politics involved. Do you see any riffraff getting into this place?”

  Fred pulled a cigarette and a matchbox from his vest. “You people and your stupid games.”

  “The world’s always been like this, Fred. Refusing to play doesn’t change the game.”

  Fred ignored him, blowing smoke. “Do you have an address for me at least?”

  Cornell handed him a piece of paper.

  I scratched my head. “So... we’re on the move again?”

  “No,” Fred said. “You stay.”

  My eyes widened. “You want me to solve the case on my own?”

  “Just... keep casualties to a minimum until I return. It won’t take long.”

  I admit I wasn’t feeling very confident, but that stirred a fire inside of me.

  “I was just asking in case you get mad when I get all the credit for the job.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Well, that’s good. Great really. I think you should go now.”

  Fred walked back to the carriage.

  The nerve!

  “So be it.” I stormed towards the entrance.

  The doorman scanned me from head to toe. “The masquerade will only take place tomorrow, Ma’am.”

  “Not a mask,” I said bluntly, my mood already soured.

  His smug expression dropped.

  “She’s with us,” Sergeant Cornell cried out from the sidewalk.

  The doorman snapped back into attention, then opened the ornate door for me. “My sincere apologies.”

  Hmpf!

  Reality crashed down on me as I stepped inside—I had never been to a place like this before.

  Massive crystal chandeliers hung above me, the polished floor reflecting dazzling spears of light into my eyes. The world spun as voices and footsteps echoed in strange ways around me. And an event wasn’t even taking place yet...

  I’m screwed.

  A woman’s laughter pierced my ears, loud and confident, sending a shiver down my spine.

  I knew exactly who I needed to talk to first, even though my legs weren’t so sure.

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  Succubi could dominate even women, so even though I wasn’t into that sort of thing, I kept my guard up. This woman was dangerously beautiful, and she knew it. Arabella was her name.

  “What would you like to know, sweet?” Arabella placed the cigarette between her lips, leaving a red lipstick mark on the tube.

  My God, I’m glad Fred isn’t here.

  “Did you know the victims personally?” I asked.

  “Yes. Some of them.”

  “How so?”

  “They were regulars, and I work here. That’s all.”

  “Were you romantically involved with any of them?”

  “Oh my. That’s personal.” She laughed. “But yes, once or twice. What can I do? They are drawn to me.”

  My jaw dropped.

  She’s not even denying it!

  Arabella looked over her shoulder. “Charlotte, come here!”

  A young-looking woman in a simpler beige dress came trotting towards us.

  “Yes, Ma’am?” She asked, her voice a whisper compared to Arabella’s.

  “Entertain the detective. I have things to do.” Arabella walked off.

  “Wait—” I began, but Charlotte stood in front of me.

  “Please, detective. Ms. Arabella is the main singer here. She must prepare herself for tonight.”

  “I have questions though...”

  “I wish I could answer your questions...” Charlotte looked around us, a distressed look on her face. “But I have a lot of work to do myself, I’m sorry.”

  My head dropped. “I understand.”

  It seems that without Fred, I can’t even get people to talk. What was I thinking?

  “Wait,” Charlotte whispered, making me look up again. “I can’t be seen chit-chatting. Meet me behind the stage before the ball tonight.”

  Really?!

  I was jumping with happiness inside, but I needed to remain professional. “Will do. Thank you.”

  “Hm, maybe you should talk to the manager as well. He should be around...” She pointed to a slender man in an elegant suit in the distance. “There he is.”

  I love her!

  I talked to the manager like Charlotte suggested. He had some interesting things to say.

  First, the reports from the witnesses didn’t match. Each one of them mentioned that the victims, all male, were seen with a woman before they died. However, the perp’s description varied, mostly the color of her hair. Brunette, blonde, red-haired, bald.

  I think the person who said bald was just messing with the manager, but it was clear to me that the succubus was using wigs.

  Now, who was likely to have many wigs?

  I looked at the stage instinctively.

  Surrounded by musicians, Arabella’s red dress sliced the air like bloody blades as she spun in a practice dance.

  If I could ever break into the singer's dressing room, the time would be now.

  I slipped into the corridor by the stage, but there I found rows of doors with only chalk-marked numbers on them. I thought someone like Arabella would’ve had her entrance decorated with a big flashy sign with her name, but no, reality once again smacked me on the face.

  Should I just ask someone? I shook my head. That would’ve been too suspicious.

  Think, Connie. We can’t be defeated by a bunch of doors. What would Fred do?

  In honesty, I didn’t think Fred would’ve needed any of this.

  I’m not him, though. We’ll do it my way.

  How does the door of a hot singer who smokes differ from anyone else’s?

  She didn’t touch the cigarettes, so I couldn’t go around sniffing handles, thankfully.

  But that limited my options.

  Wait a minute. What if we consider that she’s not just a hot singer, but also a succubus? In that case, Arabella would’ve had quite a bit of traffic in and out of her dressing room from her victims and...

  My eyes shot wide open.

  The evidence was right beneath me.

  I began inspecting the floor in front of each door, ignoring those with minimal or identical marks.

  Small shoe, small shoe... bigger shoe!

  This one had just a number 7 written on it. But it didn’t matter.

  This was Arabella’s dressing room.

  I reached for the handle with a big, satisfied grin.

  But my heart sank at the sound it made.

  Clack.

  Locked. I forgot—I didn’t have the key.

  Oh, dang it!

  My forehead collapsed against the door.

  I can’t pickpocket her—Arabella doesn’t even have any pockets! Why on Earth did I think her room would be conveniently unlocked for me?

  Then I remembered something.

  Should I try to lockpick this?

  Fred taught me how to pick some very basic locks, but I doubted this would work with Arabella’s.

  Well, no harm in trying.

  I fished two thin metal pieces from my pocket and went to work.

  The lock resisted. I froze, listening.

  Then—

  Click.

  I stared at the handle.

  It worked.

  I’m a genius!

  The room was empty, but not quite what I imagined.

  I closed the door and gaped at my surroundings. The interior walls were pink; the air smelled like a mix of sweet perfume and tobacco. Extravagant costumes on hangers.

  This place had Arabella’s face on it.

  A long dressing table hugged the wall. My first target.

  I rummaged through the drawers one by one, until paper touched my fingertips—I pulled them into view.

  Letters from admirers...

  There were many, and I recognized some of the victims’ names on them. Their contents ranged from sweet to obsessive. Either way, these men seemed ready to die for her.

  Perhaps they did.

  Though I couldn’t find any wigs, no matter where I looked.

  Maybe she keeps them somewhere else?

  I scratched my head as guilt started to creep in.

  If Arabella didn’t have wigs, then none of this was enough to incriminate her.

  Am I just... jealous?

  It was a hard pill to swallow, I must admit, imagining that I had just broken into someone’s dressing room out of jealousy.

  Maybe Charlotte will be able to breathe some life into the case later. I doubt it, though.

  I was out of clues, out of gas, so I turned off the lights and sneaked out of the room, a hollow shell of myself.

  Patrons and their companions began flooding into the ballroom. I kept myself in the shadows to avoid the inevitable stares and questions. The ball was about to start.

  Past the stage, a figure waved their hand in the air, trying to get my attention.

  Charlotte! She came...

  I paced towards her.

  “Follow me.” She led me through the draperies, then pressed where the wall shouldn’t move.

  It moved.

  Dusty pipes and old pulley lines decorated that narrow slice of a place that only existed in the darkness of itself.

  I sneezed. “Achoo!”

  “Shhh!” Charlotte hissed, patting my shoulder, a soft smile on her lips.

  “Sorry. It’s kind of dusty in here.” I wiped my nose. “What is this place?”

  “It’s just an old maintenance room. I come here to cry when Ms. Arabella screams at me.”

  Now I was the one wanting to cry. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Charlotte glanced at me, then shook her head. “It doesn’t really matter.”

  I love her so much!

  “Say,” she said, fidgeting with her fingers. “What would you like to know exactly?”

  My eyes blinked rapidly at her question.

  I forgot!

  “Hm... what were you doing before the victim was found dead?”

  Wait, that’s not it!

  “Probably working?” Charlotte chuckled. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, detective?”

  Not really, no!

  I sighed at myself.

  “Say, who was that tall man I saw you with earlier?” Charlotte asked.

  My head shot back up. “Fred?”

  A bittersweet smile grew on the girl’s lips. “You love him, don’t you?”

  My heart began to pound like a drum.

  What kind of question is that?!

  “I-I mean, I’m very grateful to him, you know, he made me and all. Anyways—”

  “That’s not what I asked.” She giggled.

  What could I say? Nobody ever asked me this before, and I mean nobody, that included me.

  Do I?

  My chest compressed so tightly I wanted to die.

  Charlotte placed her hand on it. “You don’t have to answer.”

  I wiped away the tears that mounted under my eyes. “Anyways, I just remembered what I wanted to ask you—it’s about Arabella.”

  “I suspected it.” Charlotte sighed. “Ms. Arabella is prone to draw that kind of attention.”

  “What’d you mean?”

  “Is well known that her last two husbands were murdered.”

  What?! That’s huge!

  “You seem surprised, detective. Didn’t you know?”

  I shook my head. “What about wigs? Does she have any?”

  “Of course. Each of them costs more than everything I own combined, so she keeps them in a secret compartment behind the mirror inside her room.”

  My head went light as if I was about to faint.

  I sprang back straight.

  I knew it! I’m not jealous of her!

  “Tell me more.” I leaned closer to Charlotte, a bit too aggressively. But I was on fire. “What about her routine?”

  Charlotte hesitated, glancing around even though there was no one else in the room.

  “You can tell me, Charlotte. You’re safe with me, I swear.”

  Her eyes lit up as she looked at me.

  Charlotte nodded, then began telling me everything she knew about Arabella.

  And I gotta say...

  My jaw clenched as I listened to her, the dots not just connecting—flying, across my mind.

  It stank.

  It stank of succubus.

  Arabella...

  Charlotte stopped, a scared look on her face.

  You’re mine.