Sacrifice (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult)

by Gilmore, RM

  “House of Porte,” the driver announced from the front seat.

  It was too late. Any further discussion would have to wait. We’d arrived at our destination. Cyrus had the door open, and was gracefully escaping before we could stop him for further questioning. He had a way of doing that. Sooner or later, he’d have to come clean. Or face my wrath.

  Mike and I followed him up the walkway and through the gate. The cement underfoot had been covered in white chalk drawings the last time I’d seen it, but was only a boring sidewalk now. A pathway for human feet to pass over. The double doors were closed and not framing a tiny hell bitch, like the last I’d seen it, but Azelie’s laughter still echoed in my head. I looked around to make sure it was just me. Of course it was.

  Cyrus made it to the door and knocked a fancy knock. I didn’t bother following. Mike scoffed. He looked like a cop standing at the door. Hands loose at his sides, guarded and ready for anything. Ready to draw his service weapon if necessary. Unfortunately, he wasn’t ready. Not really. Sooner or later, he’d learn. Just as I had. I just hoped it wasn’t the hard lesson I’d gotten. And to make matters worse, he didn’t even have a service revolver to draw if he wanted to. His crap-happy trigger finger would get us all killed before it’d protect us. That or he’d be swallowed up by naivety just as I had.

  Only one cursed son of a bitch at a time please.

  The doors opened simultaneously. I expected Malcolm to be there, distraught and impatiently waiting for us, but that was not the case. The tall skinny guy who had answered the door the day I’d arrived at House of Porte for the first time, stood in the doorway. His attire was atrocious, worse than the first time, and he was so skinny I could hardly look at him –it- whatever it was I couldn’t look. He smiled halfheartedly and I swear I saw a sneer in the mix. He scowled at the three of us, Mike especially. Certainly, police were not a welcome sight at a vampire House.

  From somewhere in the house, a woman’s voice called, “Welcome. Cyrus, please see your guests in.”

  He nodded, but didn’t really look at anyone. “Dylan Hart, of Los Angeles California and Michael Petersen of Los Angeles California, sponsored by Cyrus Atossa of House of Cailleadh. Acquiescence to pass?” It was a formal introduction like the others I’d been present for. Nothing new to this vampire veteran. Mike looked like he’d just woken up in a Hammer film.

  “Granted,” the woman cheerfully welcomed us from an undisclosed location within the house.

  “Acquiescence to pass?” Mike snickered under his breath.

  “It’d serve you well to mind your manners, Detective,” the unseen woman said to the surprise of us all. Well, Mike and me. Cyrus looked like he might throw up.

  The tall skinny guy used his long gross arm to allow us entry, or acquiesce our passing, or whatever.

  “Out of the pan into the fire,” Mike whispered.

  If he only knew. The poor bastard.

  Chapter Twelve

  Marienne lay sprawled out on one of her many couches, in the room with the curtains I’d made the mistake of peeking in on once before. It felt awkward without Tatum. I did not belong with that crowd, and everyone knew it. And it wasn’t my faded jeans and worn out sneakers that gave me away. It was mostly the I-don’t-drink-blood thing. And fuck those assholes, The Smiths shirt rocked.

  “Where’s Malcolm?” Cyrus asked, not wasting a second for pleasantries.

  “Where are your manners, Secondus?” Marienne pushed her weight around. Her being Primus of the House of Porte and all, I suppose she was within her funky Sanguinarian right to do so.

  Mike curled his lip and simultaneously looked both confused and arrogant. You know, the way cops usually look. I closed my eyes and shook my head, now was not the time for explanations and back-story. He really needed to chill the fuck out.

  “Madam.” Cyrus dipped his head at his superior. “My apologies. Michael Petersen and Dylan Hart of Los Angeles-“ she cut him off with one dainty, lace covered finger jutted in the air, ticking back and forth like a metronome.

  “Don’t you mean Detective Michael Petersen? The man has a title; it should be used.” Marienne’s light French accent just tickled her words instead of trampling on them as most accents had the tendency to do.

  Cyrus pinched his lips between his teeth and closed his eyes. “Madam. Detective Michael Petersen and Mistress Dylan Hart of Los Angeles, attending under the sponsorship of House of Cailleadh.”

  Everyone was quiet while Marienne took her sweet-ass time mulling over our introduction. Can we say power trip? At this point, she was just fucking with him. There were far more pressing matters at hand here than formalities in introductions.

  She tapped a long pale pink nail against the arm of the couch on which she lounged. Her honey brown eyes slid smoothly over the three of us. What a foolish sort we must have seemed, not one of us sure as to what the other was thinking or planning. Mike was likely scouting exits while forming his plan B. Cyrus, who knew, that guy was all over the map. He could be singing the Oscar Meyer wiener song for all I knew. I was overthinking everything and had a bad case of the butt sweats.

  A full minute had passed, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. “Look here lady.” I poked my finger in her direction. “I’m no blood sucker and I don’t have to follow your bullshit rules. We’re here for Malcolm McTavish. We are here only because he called us here to help him find my friend Tatum Price. Both of whom were last seen here. Either you choose to help us or-“

  “Ha! Or what, my darling?” Her wide grin flashed a lovely set of fangs. Lord knew if those bad boys were real or the plastic variety, but real or not real wasn’t the question anymore. At this point, the only question was – where were they located with respect to me, and could they get me before I could run for my life.

  “Or I formally charge you with obstruction,” Mike piped in, saving my ass. “You were the last…” he paused a millisecond, as though maybe he was trying to find the right noun for the situation, “person,” he had chosen wisely, “to see a missing person alive. Do you know what that means for you?” His cop talk wasn’t doing much in the threat department.

  “Oh, Detective, you think the law has power over me?” Her condescending tone was not lost in her accent.

  “You can’t avoid the law.” Mike took two long strides to tower over the small woman. “Who do you think you are? I don’t care what you choose to eat for dinner lady, the fact of the matter is, I am a law enforcement officer and I have no qualms about dragging your ass in on murder charges as well, if Tatum Price doesn’t turn up, unharmed.” He was serious as a fifth of tequila on a Monday night, but then again, so was she.

  Mike was still operating under the assumption he was currently dealing with mundane matters of lawbreakers and law followers. From my moderate experience with the asshole suckers in question, I knew assuming anything would just get you dismembered. You know the saying, trust but verify, I think he was speaking directly of the underground vampire society.

  Marienne stood, but only came to Mike’s chest. Not very intimidating honestly, but I suppose neither was I. I did kill two motherfuckers though and didn’t think much of it, so I can’t say her size made her any less dangerous.

  “You will listen or you will learn very quickly how wrong you are. You are in my house, in my cabal, and as long as you are under my authority, you are mine to…” her eyes slid to me and back to him, “do with as I see fit. If you’d rather refuse my hospitality and hunt for your friend in my city alone, please feel free to arrest me now.” She laughed, a huge belly laugh that wrinkled her eyes at the corners and made her appear older than I thought she was. “Go ahead, Officer, cuff me.” She laughed again and extended her wrists to him, a patronizing offer.

  She had Mike by the short and curlies. He honestly had no jurisdiction to do anything to her to begin with. The most he had was a citizen’s arrest, but the circumstances were so loose and downright ridiculous, it was pointless. Not to mention she was likely a he
avy-duty vampire bitch and would surely rip his head right off his shoulders in the event he did attempt to detain her. Unless of course, the cunt liked it rough.

  Having no answer, Mike clenched his jaw and glared at the woman nearly half his size. Mexican Stand-off vampire edition. Marienne’s straight face changed like someone had flipped a switch. A smile pulled the corners of her lips up and into her cheeks. Her brown eyes wrinkled again and her smile twitched, just enough to right those pesky crow’s feet. Stupid, vapid, bitch. I prayed to God I was that hot by the time I started crinkling around the edges.

  Her smile stayed and a humph of a laugh pushed through her mauve-tinted lips. She looked Mike from his head to his toes like he was at auction. Maybe to her he was. A small shrug lifted her shoulders. Her tiny hands gently tucked her Victorian replica white linen and lace gown under her butt before she sat back in her place. Marienne adjusted her dainty legs to rest them softly on pointed-toed boots. White and obviously expensive leather, her period boots hardly looked big enough to be an adult size shoe.

  So small and perfect, Marienne could have been plucked directly from the eighteen hundreds. She and her damn house. Her size, and even her age, wouldn’t make a lick of difference if she really were as badass as she pretended to be. Someone like Marienne was likely better an ally than an enemy, if I had to guess. In the end, we needed her, even if only to ensure she didn’t become an enemy.

  Fuck you, rock. You and your bullshit hard place.

  I could see all this mull through Mike’s head. He was, once again, considering all the possibilities before proceeding. Smart. If only he could do the same when dealing with me, we’d be golden. His temper and tendency to want to make everything black and white would be his worst enemy when it came to our new found life amongst bad things. A hard lesson I had to learn as well. Luckily for me, I’d been there and done that, and was ready and waiting for the next turd to plop. Mike, poor Mike, was about to get his ass handed to him on a sacrificial platter.

  “I am looking for Tatum Price. Malcolm McTavish alerted us to her disappearance and asked for our help,” Mike spoke again, this time firmly planted in good cop shoes. “I am here on behalf of Malcolm McTavish as a law enforcement officer to assist in finding the whereabouts of Ms. Price. Seeing as though this is your house, and the person in question was last seen at this residence, I’m sure you don’t want local police involved should Malcolm be forced to file a missing persons report.” He stopped just long enough to let it sink in. “I would appreciate any assistance you and your associates can provide.” He was giving in, but on his own terms. Sounded like Mike. And maybe someone else I knew.

  Name-dropping was clever, but without Malcolm to back it up, we were fucked. We’d been inside for ten minutes and the ginger fuck still hadn’t made an appearance. If it were me calling for help to find my fuck buddy, I’d probably be downstairs waiting for the cavalry. Instead, we were stuck with Bloody Mary fucking Poppins and her Richard O’Brien henchman guy. Something was fucky.

  “Well, was that so hard?” she giggled like a six-year-old girl. “Now, of course I don’t want police in and out of my home. Who would? However, I haven’t laid eyes on either of them in hours.” Her lacey fingers tickled the air in my general direction. “As I haven’t seen the likes of you, in quite some time either. Did we scare you off?”

  “You could say that.” No need to divulge more than necessary to those not neatly chilling in the Dylan Hart circle of trust. “Where’s my friend?” I asked, having little patience for her crap.

  “Perhaps she was scared away as well. Maybe she ran for her life in the middle of the night…all the way home.” The skinny alien henchman guy made annoying little squeals back in his throat, imitating a pig. The ironic fat pig reference did not go unnoticed. He’d pay for that later.

  “Marienne, if Malcolm is not with you, where do you suppose he is? I know for a fact he is still in New Orleans,” Cyrus finally chimed in. These were his people; he really should have been handling the bribes and threats from the get go.

  “Do you? The lot of you were perfectly capable of hopping on an airplane back and forth more than once this weekend. Is it not possible your Primus has done the same?” She had a point. I wanted desperately to round house kick her, Chuck Norris style, square in the throat.

  “I am no fool.” Cyrus clenched his jaw, muscles twitching and ticking in his temples. “You and I will have words, but now, I need to find my Primus.”

  He hadn’t moved, but his body seemed larger. Like his very mass had extended outward and into the room. He didn’t say a word before turning, and leaving Mike and I alone with the short woman in lace.

  “Malcolm!” he hollered from the base of the wide staircase, and waited just long enough to catch a response before moving along and calling out again. “Malcolm?” He made his way up stairs.

  One glance at Marienne and it was obvious there was no other option than to get as far away from her as possible. If she had me alone, I just might be strung up and flogged, for whatever God-awful thing I’d done today.

  I turned and followed Cyrus up the stairs. “Malcolm?” I yelled down the hallway on the second floor from the top of the stairs. Someone had cleaned up whatever mess I was sure Azelie and I had left behind twenty-four hours ago. I heard Cyrus bellowing from the third floor. I bounded up the second, smaller staircase to find him. Mike hadn’t followed me, but that was his problem. He was a big bad policeman. I found Cyrus in the room I’d once occupied. He was standing in the center of the room with his hands on his hips.

  “Any suggestions now, Hoss?” I asked from the doorway.

  “If Malcolm is in this house, he is hidden away somewhere,” Cyrus talked to the air, to no one in particular.

  “Hey, the mirror is gone,” I proclaimed, a little too animated. The mirror I’d been so intrigued by, the one that reflected my phantom wounds, was not hanging where it had been. There was just a bare wall where it’d been behind those odd, heavy drapes.

  “What are you blabbing about?” he sighed and snapped at me in irritation.

  “Hey, I’m on your side, asshat.” I moved to stand in front of the space the mirror once occupied. “Right here, there was a mirror.” I waved my hands around the empty spot. “I showed it to you this morning, remember? It had naked people all over it. You had a name for it…” My tired brain couldn’t dredge up the name.

  “Yes, yes, yes.” He shooed me away from the wall and out the door. “Not here, not now,” he whispered. “Malcolm!” he called out again, too close to my ears.

  “He’s not here, obviously. And neither is Tatum. So why the fuck are we still here? You don’t have a plan B?” That’d be too much to ask for at this point, something to actually work out. “Follow me.” I ran down the stairs, well, as fast as my body mass would allow anyway, and down the second-story hall.

  “Where are you going?”

  “The one place no one looked. The one place I’d stick around this dump for.” Down the wide staircase, we tromped. My speed was too fast, and I knew that at any moment I’d be tumbling ass over face. I hit the last step and victory spread across my face in the form of a grin. I used my hand to anchor me as I swung around the post like I had once before. My rubber-soled sneakers kept me from sliding around this time. I didn’t stop to ask for permission before I swung open the little door under the stairs. I was wide awake, and Cyrus wasn’t about to stop me. I took the cement stairs slower and cautiously – a trip down those bad boys would end up with me bleeding and broken. The lighting was just as I remembered it. Dim and ever changing. I knew at the bottom of those stairs had to be rows and rows of coffins and stone walls lined with flickering candles.

  Cyrus’s footsteps echoed mine. “Malcolm?” I whispered. I don’t know what compelled me to stay quiet, but yelling in the small space seemed unwise somehow. No one answered of course. But it didn’t matter to me. It wasn’t Malcolm I was really concerned with. This was a venture for the truth.


  I turned the corner toward the open space I’d seen in my dream. I hadn’t made it to the last step before Cyrus scooped me up and tossed me like a doll to the floor upstairs the last time I tried these shenanigans. No one stopped me now. Around the corner, I bounded.

  “Are you shitting me?” I yelled into the empty space. “Where are they?” I asked no one in particular. I wandered around, searching for signs of textbook vampire shit.

  “Where’s what?” Cyrus asked as if he had no clue as to what I could possibly be talking about.

  “Don’t bullshit me. You know what was down here just yesterday.” He was quiet. “Coffins! There were coffins down here!”

  “Why would there be coffins in the basement?” he asked as though he hadn’t just told me vampires were a fact of life.

  “Because I saw them in my…” I stopped and took a breath, “…dream,” I finished halfheartedly.

  “Dylan, I understand this is very difficult for you to take in. You are one of a very few that are even minutely aware of the facts, and I do not envy you for this. You must understand your ideas of vampires, or vampire-like beings, have been created by the media and are likely not accurate. There would not be coffins in this home. They are not needed.” He chuckled lightly, “In fact, if you enter the home of a vampire and there is a coffin, either someone has died or that person is not who they say they are.”

  “Then why did you stop me yesterday? I tried to get down here to verify my fucked-up delusion and you yanked me out. Why?”

  “This is a private space and not for you to invade. At least, that was the case then.” His voice was calm, annoyingly so. It was a distraction to my frazzled mess of a demeanor that I’d allowed to take the forefront.

  “I’m part of the in crowd now, so I get to see empty basements?” My foot caught something on the ground as I stomped toward him.

  He didn’t speak as I inspected the thing that stopped my movement. A round grate the size of a salad plate lay in the center of the room. Dark streaks stained the concrete surrounding the hole. A drain. A drain in the center of a stone basement. A stone basement in the House of Porte.