Page 5 of The Succubi's Choice

“Standing operating procedure?” Miri asks, taking the clipboard from Katya.

“Standard operating procedure,” she confirms, rolling back her uninjured shoulder.

Standard operating procedure is, of course, a misnomer, because in Katya’s line of work there’s no one size fits all way of thinking, so much so that it’s become a running joke between them. Mostly it means that Miri goes first, playing up the nice not-natural person who they can trust, with Katya behind her to enforce rules. And, you know, own a gun.

The house is...not great. The paint chips off onto the lawn, it’s missing shingles on the roof, and every window is blacked out. Some with blackout curtains, some with wood, some with what appears to be simple black paint.

So they’re definitely light sensitive, which means Katya won’t be able to see too well inside, and their flashlights are even more of a weapon than usual.

They crunch over the grass, and Miri sets her shoulders back, straightening her spine, and Katya gives her a fast look.

“They’re probably not gonna respond to your charm,” she warns.

“Well yeah,” Miri shoots back, because she knows that. One of the very reasons why succubi are so low on the totem pole of non-natural creatures is their entire sphere of influence is just...humans who are vulnerable. “But if there’s a human in there, they might need encouragement.”

Thank god Lundy lets her use her charm at work, as long as Katya is there.

Katya rolls her eyes in return, before letting her approach the door first. They have a warrant, but if they can just open the door, that’s a lot easier.

The first knock does nothing, with no reply, no echo, nothing. It’s like there’s just a noise absorbing foam beyond the door, or that the door is completely solid, all the way through.

With a quick glance exchanged, Miri tries the doorbell, which doesn’t ring at all. Which lends something to the idea of noise sensitivity, which is relatively rare, or...or they just don’t want to be bothered.

“Great,” Miri says, stepping aside for Katya to kneel next to the doorknob with her lockpicks. “Just...great.”

“Hold this here,” Katya says, and Miri reaches down to hold the tension bar on the picks, because Katya’s other arm is not up to lockpicking yet.

But even with the handicap, the lock springs open after a few short minutes, and the door creaks along its rusty hinges, revealing a very dark interior.

Dust mites dance around them as Miri slowly pushes the door all the way open, craning her neck to look up at the door jamb. Nothing.

She takes a step over the threshold, the hairs on the back of her neck rising, but nothing happens. Just the utterly still air, brushing against her skin.

Somewhere, deep inside the house, something moves. A clink of a glass on a table, the shuffling of papers against a desk.

Katya steps over, and when nothing happens, they both relax their shoulders a little bit. Digging into her suit pocket, Katya digs out a small recording device, pressing the start button with a small beep.

Miri holds her finger to her lips, and Katya nods in return. Again, the vague noise that someone lives there, a scrape of a chair against the floor.

Katya close her eyes, clearly steeling herself.

“Organization Human Relations, is anyone home?” She says, loud, crisp, and authoritative.

Miri winces, cause it’s a legal necessity for them, but...she doesn’t really like announcing that they’re there.

The sudden silence deeper in the house does nothing for her anxiety, but she pushes along, going from doorway to doorway, with every room empty. Every room decorated vaguely floral with long carpet, like they took over the house of an aged grandmother who hadn’t redecorated since the 80s.

Or hasn’t been alive since the 80s. Or something equally morbid.

They do a full sweep of the house, where every door lays open and every room is empty, until they get to the one inevitably closed door in the entire house.

“Great,” Katya whispers, not exactly pale, but obviously not happy about it. Because that’s the other thing that happened after her too obvious brush with death: she got scared.

Not in any way that actually infringed on her ability to do her job, she’s far too stubborn and far too professional for that, but in the way that she just gets scared. So fear comes off of her in waves, as she grimly approaches the door.

It’s painful to watch, seeing her boss and friend go from a confident bureaucrat and a pretty kick ass person to someone who isn’t exactly not-kickass, but is terrified for every moment she needs to be.

Still, blowing out a breath of air, Katya turns the handle of the door, revealing a staircase that leads down to pitch black.

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