"I'm sorry this is so late," Soderstrom said, getting into the limo. "I had to do some...cleaning up around the house."

"Don't bother with excuses, Werner," Mayor Daley replied, taking the package. "I don't have time. Just tell me what's happening with the job." Daley motioned to his driver before raising the glass partition. The vehicle pulled away from the curb and headed southbound on Lake Shore Drive.

"I...there have been some...unfortunate developments."

"You assured me she would be dead by tomorrow," Daley hissed.

"Two of my crew are dead and the third is missing."

"GODDAMNIT!" Daley said through clenched teeth. "That fucking BITCH!"

"Mr. Mayor," Soderstrom began, looking confused, "Marla had nothing to do with--"

Daley suddenly lunged forward, startling the perpetually cool Soderstrom. He sank back against the seat. Daley pressed his bulbous nose against Soderstrom's. "Haven't you been paying attention at all?! You fucking German moron!! We discussed this! That woman isn't HUMAN!"

"Yes, I've heard you make that claim, Mr. Mayor--"

"'CLAIM'?!" Daley shrieked.

"But if she's not human," Soderstrom continued, regaining his calm, "what is she?" He watched Daley's eyes flare dangerously, then the fire in them slowly dimmed and was replaced with...fear? Yes, Soderstrom realized, he doesn't know what she is...and it's the not knowing that scares him.

Daley tried an explanation anyway. "She's a cambion. Or maybe a full-blooded succubus. Shit, I don't know.  Maybe she's Nahemah, princess of all succubi. WIPE THAT FUCKING SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE!!"

Soderstrom hadn't even realized he was grinning softly. How could he have been so careless? Smirking at Earl's eccentricities was one thing. This was the Mayor of Chicago. Not to mention his sponsor at The Church. Anything less than his most professional poker face could very well get him killed.

But Daley fell back in his seat and exhaled deeply. He stroked the stubble on his cheeks and chin thoughtfully, studying the man across from him. When he finally spoke, his voice was a whisper. "I haven't told you about the curse, have I?"

"Curse, sir?"

"The curse on the elected mayors of this city."

"No, sir, I'm not aware of that story."

Daley paused, gathering his thoughts. "Do you know what happened to the mayor before me?"

"Sawyer?"

"Not that shitbag. And not Orr, either. ELECTED mayor. Elected by the people, not the fucking City Council."

"Washington."

"Washington," Daley repeated, nodding. "He died in office--literally. Reaching for a godddamn pencil on the floor. Then there's my father--"

"What about Byrne?" Soderstrom interrupted.

Daley raised his hands in a "hold on" gesture. "Byrne's a woman. Doesn't count here for reasons I'll get to." He looked out the window at the dark lake and began talking. "This goes back to Mayor Cermak. The early '30s, in case you care. Capone's in jail. Frank Nitti's running the organization. So one day Cermak orders his cops to arrest Nitti. Of course there's a gunfight. In those days bullets flew more often than Sosa homers over Wrigley's ivy. Anyway, Nitti is severely wounded. So in 1933, Cermak is riding in a car with then president-elect Franklin Roosevelt in a parade in Miami. Suddenly an assassin jumps out of the crowd and starts shooting. Cermak is hit. Roosevelt isn't even scratched. Cermak is rushed to the hospital. He dies of his injuries a few weeks later. Meanwhile, the gunman is identified as Giuseppe Zangara, an Italian sniper. This fuels speculation that the intended target was never Roosevelt but rather Cermak all along. Capone ordered the hit from jail as payback for what happened to Nitti. That's the theory, anyway."

"You have a different one," Soderstrom said, his interest piqued.

"Marla," Daley whispered. "When I first took office eleven years ago, I studied up on the men who came before me. Marla is their common thread."

"Was she a CONCUBINE?"

"No," Daley snorted. "Not theirs, anyway. But she was there, at Cermak's funeral."

"Nonsense," Soderstrom announced, forgetting for the moment who he was addressing. "Marla is a 20-something woman."

"MARLA IS A FUCKING IMMORTAL BITCH-DEMON!!" Daley roared. "I researched the records of all the mayors who died in office, and a woman who looks like Marla was present at all their funerals! Cermak, my dad, Washington; all male, all elected by the people!"

"Wait," Soderstrom said, "you're leaving out Kennelly. He didn't die in office."

"Do I have to remind you what Kennelly was?" Daley replied.

Soderstrom thought about it and simply shook his head, recalling the painting in the reading room of The Church. "A High Priest."

"Shit, I'll bet he knew exactly what she was and what she was after, and probably even managed to conjure a protection spell against her."

"Protection against...what? Does she have powers?"

"I don't know," Daley sighed. "According to my research, different demons have different abilities. A common one is the latent ability to bring about unusual coincidence; alter probabilities; perhaps even direct bad luck to those around them."

"So what do you think she's after?"

Daley looked at his reflection in the dark glass. "A succubus is drawn to men. Usually men of power. I think this one was drawn to Chicago's most powerful and infamous man in all history. Al Capone. When he landed in prison, she was forced to move on to Nitti. And when a Chicago mayor indirectly got him shot, she declared war on him and every mayor that succeeded him. What else does an immortal have to do with their time?"

The limo lurched slightly as it came to a stop outside the Drake. The driver got out and opened Soderstrom's door.

Daley leaned forward and whispered in Soderstrom's ear. "I want her dead, do you hear me? I've got Gus tracking her for me, and I've got you and your men to do the rest."

As if on cue, Soderstrom's pager began chiming. He unclipped it from his belt and inspected the readout. "It's Gus. How much does he know, by the way?"

"Nothing. None of this. He just knows I want the girl found and followed. And that's all he needs to know--I don't care how long you've been friends."

"Yes, sir," Soderstrom said. "I'll assemble a new team tonight. I know Gus typically uses Fairchild and Julius for tough cases, but they're loyal to me." He stepped out of the limo, then turned and poked his head back in. "Enjoy the liver, sir."

Daley hefted the package, feeling its weight. "Is this--?"

Soderstrom nodded in answer. "And you've got two of them there."

"See you at Church," Daley said, unwrapping the package.

"Hail Belphegor, Lord of the Opening," Soderstrom said, extending a fist.

"Hail Belphegor," Daley replied, just before digging in.