The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles- Year One

by Ken Lange

  At around four, I decided it was time to focus on the current situation: Walter, and who he was working with. There were a couple of boxes in the living room that I hadn’t gone through yet. I got to my feet and made my way down the hall but stopped when the sound of someone in the kitchen caught my attention. Pushing the door open, I found Isidore pulling food out of the fridge.

  “Need some help?”

  Isidore jumped, nearly dropping the packet of sausages. “Jesus!” He tossed it onto the counter before grabbing another. “Don’t sneak up on people.”

  I shrugged. “Old habits die hard.”

  He gave me an alluring gaze. “Any chance you’ll reveal where you picked them up?”

  Blowing out a puff of air, I shook my head. “Not today.”

  He feigned disgust and shooed me away from the counter. “Go sit, and I’ll whip up something for us to eat.” He turned back questioningly “You are hungry, aren’t you?”

  I patted my stomach. “I could eat.”

  He harrumphed. “Damn straight, you can.” He held up one of the white packets of sausage in my direction. “Made this myself. Nothing beats homemade.”

  I was more than a little impressed he’d gone to the trouble of making his own. “Seriously? I haven’t had homemade sausage since I was a kid.”

  Ripping off the white butcher paper, he beamed with pride. “Then you’re in for a rare treat.” He waved a hand in the air casually. “I’m not sure what they fed you on the reservation… You did live there, right?”

  I forced a neutral expression onto my face. “No, my parents had a place about ten miles away. But for all the time we spent there, I might as well have.”

  If he noticed my discomfort, he didn’t show it. “Well, I don’t know what they made there, but this is my own secret recipe.”

  Pushing the chair back onto two legs, I gave him a thumbs-up. “Can’t wait to try it.”

  He placed an old cast iron skillet on the gas burner and set to work. Holding an egg in one hand, he asked, “Fried?”

  With a sheepish expression, I nodded. “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

  He groaned at my request with a twinkle in his eye. “You and Andrew like the strangest shit. It’s like you’ve never experienced the glory of scrambled eggs.”

  Being the kind and generous man I was, I felt a need to point out recent history. “You made scrambled eggs the other morning.”

  He swiveled around with mock horror on his face. “I know, and you still didn’t appreciate their awesomeness.”

  Okay, he had a point. Something about a runny yolk made me feel all warm and fuzzy. “I suppose that’s true.”

  He tossed six patties into the pan with a sizzle, and the aroma of herbs and spices filled the air. He nudged each of them with a spatula before looking back at me with a serious expression. “I take it you didn’t sleep well?”

  “Huh?”

  He turned to the sausages again before shifting his gaze back to me, looking apprehensive. “You do recall shoving a knife through someone’s heart last night, right?”

  Oh, that. I suppose that might make some people lose sleep. I wasn’t one of them, mind you, but I could understand his mistake. “Sorry to say he never crossed my mind. He was a clue, and now he’s dead. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  Isidore winced. “I’m guessing the last few days haven’t been that uncommon for you then.”

  That was the world record of understatements. The last twenty-eight years had been spent honing very specific talents. My unique skills made me the boogeyman to more than just the Archive.

  “That would be a fair assumption.”

  Isidore flipped the patties and focused on the pan, not daring to look back. “From what I can tell, you’re handy with a knife.” He made a show of waving the spatula in the air. “I saw a couple of swords in that crate you hauled up. Got something against guns?”

  I puffed out a breath. “Guns are fine, but swords and knives never run out of ammunition.”

  He considered it while pushing the patties around in the skillet. “I suppose that’s true.” He risked a glance over his shoulder. “What kind of swords are they?”

  Excitement tinged my voice, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “One is a wakizashi, a Japanese short sword. The other is a Roman gladius. Both genuine antiques, from what I can tell.” Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I spoke to the floor. “I believe that unless you’re willing to be up close and personal and have your victim’s warm blood rush over your hands, you shouldn’t own a gun. They make killing people too easy.”

  Isidore didn’t speak right away, but he eventually found his voice. “Killing people is always personal, whether or not people realize it.”

  “Agreed.”

  Keeping his tone low, he asked, “Since the swords are antiques, what are you going to do with them?”

  “Use them, of course.” Rocking my chair back and forth, I considered my next words carefully. “They’re the symbol of my office.” I ran my hand over the short whiskers on my chin. “Granted, they may not be as easy to carry as a pistol, but they’re still potent weapons in their own right.”

  Isidore snorted. “Three feet of gleaming steel is definitely harder to hide.”

  I took another sip of tea. “I doubt I’ll run into too much trouble.”

  Isidore pointed the spatula at my hand. “Please remember that you’re supposed to create and maintain the peace as well.”

  Sighing, I said, “I haven’t forgotten, but it might surprise you to know that the peace is normally created by the willingness of a few to do great violence in its name.”

  Isidore frowned. “It’s been known to happen that way.” He paused as he patted the sausages with a paper towel. “It’s good to see you can keep Andrew in check. I was concerned that might be an issue with Martha gone.”

  There it was again, the irrational fear of my uncle. “Is he really that bad?”

  A shiver ran up his spine. “Yes…he is.”

  I gestured for him to continue. “Care to elaborate?”

  Isidore sighed. “Not really, but I guess I need to so you’ll understand.” He grimaced. “Andrew has the power to tear minds apart. Make you believe that you’re on fire…or worse.” His eyes unfocused for a moment as he relived a memory. “He can rip a man apart a piece at a time, and that’s all before he gets angry.”

  Leaning forward, I let my chair hit the floor with a loud clack. Okay, then. I was starting to see the picture. No wonder everyone shat their pants when it came to Andrew. It also painted Robert in a whole new light. Goddamn, that man was stupid. “How did Martha keep him in check?”

  Isidore handed me a plate filled with sausage and eggs. “He loved her. He couldn’t bring himself to defy her wishes.” He pointed at the food. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

  I guessed that was a nice way of saying the conversation was over, and I complied by keeping my mouth shut, or at the very least filled.

  I’d just washed off my plate when Andrew stalked into the room. He didn’t look well. “Could you come with me?”

  With a faint smile, I waved Andrew out the door. “Sure.”

  He led me down the hall and into the room with the stones, and stopped in front of mine. “You see that?”

  The misshapen diamond was fractionally larger, but I guessed he was talking about the two new pear-shaped aquamarine stones. My stomach churned as the implications hit me.

  Standing upright, I looked at my uncle. “I do.”

  Andrew’s face was taut, his voice shook, and a slight tremor overtook him for a moment. “The only thing that’s changed since the last time I was in here are those two stones, and the fact that two men have died at your hand.” He looked down at them then back at me. “Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

  There wasn’t any point lying about it.

  I shook my head, and my shoulders slumped. “You think it’s related, and I’m betting you’re right.”

&nb
sp; Andrew peered through the glass walls of the box at the lake of garnets and sighed. “I can only imagine how hard your life’s been over the last twenty-eight years.” He stood up straight, looking down at me with tears in his eyes he was barely holding back. “I’m here for you if you ever need to talk. I won’t judge. I can’t.”

  Keeping my expression neutral, I nodded.

  He clapped me on the shoulder hard and pulled me in for a hug. “Remember, men of real character have always been made out of hard choices and even harder lives. It appears you’ve had both.” He waved for me to follow. “Some of us haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  “You go on. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

  He looked back at me one last time before turning to leave. I waited for the door to close behind him before scouring the room. A few minutes later, I found a large swath of black velvet, which I draped over the display case. I had no urge to keep track of the people I’d killed, or would kill. One thing was clear, though. As time went on, I’d need to get a larger case.

  Back in the kitchen, Andrew and Isidore were in the middle of eating breakfast. I gave Andrew my best smile. “Think you could tell me where Martha lived, and by any chance, would you have a key to the place?”

  He dropped his fork onto the plate then shoved a hand into his pocket. He pulled a key off the keyring and tossed it to me. “Number 11 Audubon Place.” He picked up a napkin and dabbed the corner of his mouth. “I’ll make a call after breakfast so they can put you on the list.”

  “List?”

  Isidore huffed. “You’re about to visit one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in all of New Orleans. You better believe there’s a list.”

  Damn. Just what I needed: a bunch of nosey rich people with their overpriced security dogs up my ass while I worked.

  I smiled. “Great.” Thumbing back at the hall, I said, “I’ve got a few things to tidy up. Let me know when I can head over.”

  It was just after 7:00 when I got clearance to visit Martha’s, and I headed down St. Charles Avenue, following the Google navigator. When I was about a block away, a massive twelve-foot-high brick wall ran next to the road until I reached the entrance. I turned onto Audubon Place and stopped in front of a heavily armored but fashionable iron gate. Two armed NOPD officers manned the little air-conditioned brick gatehouse, and for some reason it took both of them to inspect my ID.

  After several minutes of them wasting my time because they could, they waved me through, telling me to keep my speed under fifteen miles per hour. To ensure that I not only understood their directions but followed them, one of the officers escorted me to my destination. Lucky me. I pulled down the long cobblestone drive that stretched the length of the property and parked in front of the garage.

  A shiver ran up my spine as I shut off the engine. From where I sat, a giant oak blocked the view of the second story. When I opened the door, gooseflesh ran up my arms. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my gut twisted.

  I wanted to grab the duffel bag out of the backseat and strap on the swords, but the NOPD officer who’d parked at the end of the drive was keeping watch, and probably wouldn’t appreciate the fashion choice. Pulling the key out of my pocket, I headed for the back entrance a good hundred feet away. As I slipped the key into the lock, there was a sound of something moving above me. Twisting the key, I pushed the door open and stepped back to get a look. For a split-second, I thought I saw Brad standing in the window, but a moment later everything went white.

  Fire enveloped my body, the world sounded like it was being torn apart, and the shockwave lifted me off my feet and sent me sprawling. Instinctively, I threw my arms in front of my face as glass, wood, and brick pelted my body, slicing through my flesh. The sickening feeling of freefalling through the air caused my stomach to lurch into my chest. The massive nine-foot hedge lining the neighbor’s yard did little to slow my descent. I crashed into the perfectly manicured lawn with a bone-crunching thud, and my momentum tore out a large swath of grass.

  I hurt, and it took me several seconds to inventory my body parts. My hands, face, and arms were cut, scratched, and bruised, but I’d live. Thankfully, the long-sleeved shirt George had made me had absorbed most of the abuse. Things would’ve been better if I hadn’t rolled up my sleeves earlier, but that was being absolutely ungrateful. I stood and stumbled back through the hedge, nearly colliding with the NOPD officer who’d run down the drive to check on me.

  He gave me a once-over and pointed at the ground. “Take a seat, son.” He clicked the radio on his shoulder. “Dispatch, we have a survivor.” He looked at me oddly then clicked it again. “He appears to be disoriented…tell them to step on it!”

  The funny thing was the closer I got to the house the better I felt. In fact, most of my wounds were quickly closing. I wanted to get inside, but that was impossible. The inferno may have started out magically, but now the house itself was on fire. While I might’ve been immune to the source of the ignition, actual flames would still hurt like hell, and given the opportunity, kill me. Whatever magic was in the air quickly faded, leaving me scraped and bruised but otherwise okay.

  The officer put a hand on my shoulder. “Sir, I’d appreciate it if you’d take a seat.” He pointed at the ground again. “I’ve got a job to do.”

  The fire truck arrived in record time, but there wasn’t any hope of putting it out before the house collapsed on itself. Now it was a matter of making sure the neighbors’ houses didn’t burn down with it. As for me, the EMTs were insisting that I go to the hospital. Instead, I sat there for two hours until they cleared my car and let me head back to Andrew’s.

  Chapter 18

  It was around noon when I pulled through the gate, locking it behind me before backing into the garage. The large oak tree that had prevented me from seeing into Martha’s house had luckily also protected the Tucker from the flying debris when the place exploded. I wasn’t sure what type of insurance Andrew had, but I was fairly certain they wouldn’t be pleased with me destroying it on my second trip out.

  Inside, I took the stairs two at a time, landing on the third from the top with a loud creak. Pushing the door open, I found Andrew and Isidore at the desk going over paperwork.

  Isidore pulled a face as he sniffed the air then looked at me with disgust. “What in the hell have you been burning?”

  Andrew looked up from his paperwork, his eyes flicking across me and settling on my arms, face, and neck. He laid down his pen and leaned back in his seat. His voice was steady, calm, and full of concern. “What happened?”

  I frowned. “There’s no easy way to say this. Martha’s house blew up and burned to the ground…” Fidgeting with my keys, I sighed. “For what it’s worth, I’m very sorry that it happened.” Grimacing, I said, “The official report is going to rule it an accident caused by a gas leak.”

  Andrew closed his eyes and balled his fists. “But you think otherwise.”

  I wanted nothing more than to grab a shower and change, but this had to be handled first. “I’ve dealt with a lot of explosions over the years, and I can assure you this wasn’t gas.” Stepping closer, I held up my forearm to show them a long, jagged gash that was rapidly healing. “I was pretty cut up from the explosion, but as you can see, that’s not the case any longer.”

  Andrew leaned forward, taking in the information. “It was magical in nature then.”

  Keeping my gaze fixed on Andrew, I continued, “That’s the theory. I’m fairly certain, however, that I wasn’t the target.”

  Isidore snapped his head up immediately. “Who do you think they were after?”

  After cutting my eyes at Isidore, I quickly returned my full attention to Andrew. “Well, I was driving the Tucker, and let’s face it, there aren’t many people who’d be visiting Martha’s now that she’s passed away.”

  “You mean murdered,” Andrew growled.

  My gaze never wavered. “Murdered.” Letting the word sink in, I said, “If you think it through, you�
��ll come to the same conclusion I did.”

  Andrew took a deep breath then slowly let it out. “Me.”

  I nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking…and while I’m sure you’re capable enough—especially with Isidore’s support—I’d like to recommend finding a few trustworthy individuals to beef up security.”

  Andrew sighed and turned to Isidore. “Could you give Alexander a call for me? Tell him I’m in need of his services.”

  Isidore got to his feet and pulled a mobile out of his pocket. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Isidore was out the door and down the stairs before I could say anything. Looking back at my uncle, I eyed him curiously. “You can trust this Alexander?”

  Andrew leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands. “Without question.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  Andrew raised his head, closing his eyes slowly. “He feels indebted to me.” He shifted in his seat. “Alexander and his clan have sworn a blood oath to protect me.”

  For a split-second, I thought about asking but decided against it. Waving a hand at myself, I thumbed back at my room. “I’m going to get cleaned up and put on some fresh clothes before I head back out.”

  Cleanup took a bit longer than normal since I was sore and bruised from head to toe. My back had taken the brunt of the impact when I’d torn a large section out of the grass. It was still scraped, and I had a really nice black and purple bruise from my shoulder blades to the top of my ass.

  After dressing, I gingerly made my way back to the living room, where I found Isidore and Andrew at the table. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”

  Isidore winced at the sight of me trying to walk. “Are you going to be okay?”

  Raising my hands in a what-choice-do-I-have manner, I meandered over. “I’ll be fine in a day or so. I’m just sore.”

  Isidore snorted. “Most people would be a little more upset.”

  I flinched as I sat. “This isn’t the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last, especially considering the job.” Trying to make myself comfortable and failing, I finally turned my attention to Andrew. “You’ve got everything handled here?”