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Rider slapped his neck and flicked the offending mosquito off his hand. "Even the bugs drink your blood out here!"
"Rider, please shut up," Damali said, exasperated. "You are not making any of this easier."
"Oh, please forgive me," Rider said with a wave of his arm. "My bad. Let me not cast a negative vibration on this fun excursion."
They walked a while longer in silence, only Big Mike's occasional private chuckles to himself breaking the barrier between them. When they came to a halt in front of the dark-gray marble tomb identified as Nuit's, Big Mike turned to Rider with a wide grin.
"Laissez les bon temps rouler—let the good times roll."
"Mike, did that female vamp tell you that? You are getting on my nerves, dude. Seriously."
Mike laughed. "Yeah, she did… over, and over, and over again. Iron lace and criminals… God, I love New Orleans."
Rider frowned and was about to speak, but Damali held up her hand.
"Fellas, please. Break it up. It's showtime. I need to concentrate if you want a seer." She needed to steady herself and hoped they wouldn't notice. Since her brief encounter with Carlos, she'd also been practically blind. It was as though holding him sent such a current through her that it had literally blown her mind like a fuse. Then, she had absorbed all of Marlene's pain right after. She was emotionally exhausted, and had trouble focusing on anything except Carlos's current location and safety. She was drawing a blank, but didn't want to shake her team members' confidence. Half of winning any battle required having one's head right. If you believed, had confidence, you could conquer anything. "You guys ready?"
Disgruntled, Rider finally nodded, glowering at Mike's happy expression.
"Pestilence, plague, those were the weapons of Nuit's era, D. Don'tcha think we should consider the fact that disease is still a standard way to off somebody?"
"There hasn't been a member of Nuit's line alive to bring back the plague or go in here in a long time," she argued.
"My point exactly."
"All right, Rider, listen. We get in, see if this is where he sleeps—then we're out. It's early afternoon. What can happen?"
"In the dark, with his last ounce of strength, the bastard could sit up quick and rip somebody's heart out." Rider glanced at Big Mike who was now serious. "Ain't funny, is it, Mike? Obviously you do remember some of the other aspects of New Orleans not in the 'must see' section of the travel guides."
Mike nodded and let out his breath, adjusting the duffle bag on his shoulder. "Two minutes—everybody hold a stake, I'll move the lid."
They passed a strained glance between them as Rider and Mike pried the tomb open. Thick cobwebs blocked the entrance and something unseen skittered in a dark corner. They covered their mouths against the musty, dank smell. Within minutes, Big Mike had broken the coffin covering off with a drum anchor and chime chisel. Bones and frayed pieces of fabric greeted them once they removed the lid, but thankfully nothing moved.
"Y'all, not trying to be funny or nothing, but, this is no place for a guy with a sensitive nose." Rider had his hands over his nose and mouth, a stake clamped under his armpit.
"This isn't his lair," Damali murmured. "He's too smart for that—we should have known. I don't smell or sense him either."
"Okay, then, let's go. I'm convinced—curiosity is satisfied. Let's go home now."
They walked out of the vault, this time not arguing with Rider's insistence that they get the hell out of there. As soon as they cleared the crypt, Rider hawked and spit again.
"Have you any idea what places like this do to an olfactory sensor?"
"Yeah, I do, but can you stop with the hawking? Dag, between the toilet seats left up all the time, and the spitting thing, eeew," Damali said, finally taking a real breath.
"Like I said, we all need some personal space." Rider shrugged. "We each have our little foibles, but did you smell anything? My nose is full of stinky shit."
"I didn't smell a hint of sulfur in there. Probably will be like that in the mansion, too—if it isn't a tourist stop, or sold to a family or something. Before my Dad hunted him, he might have kept residence here—but knowing Nuit, like all vamps, he moved his operation to high ground when he came back. I really should have thought about that part more."
"But, Mar said that Blood Music owned this property—so something might be up with it." Big Mike walked a distance away, got still, listened, and then shook his head.
"Yeah," Rider conceded. "I guess we had to check. We'd all look pretty stupid if we hadn't, and the bastard was so arrogant that he'd gone right back to the most obvious place—faking us out because we wouldn't think he'd be here. Fine, people. Let's do this fast."
After a short walk, they found the rental car and climbed into it again.
"He probably willed the mansion back to himself, so that he could still keep it, like all his other holdings." Damali's grip tightened on the wheel. "There's something about this place, though. It's nearby—I can feel it. Gut told me to try. I don't know." She finally sighed, turning the key in the ignition and pulling off slowly, thinking.
Big Mike nodded. "That's why they need helpers—people to do their dirty work for them, to file bogus birth and death certificates, move property around… Yeah, let's go check out the mansion and see who's home."
This time as they drove, there was no raucous laughter, no teasing, and no fooling around. Instinctively they all knew that going into a mansion was more dangerous than opening a vault during the day. In a house, there were many interconnecting rooms, plus places to get trapped with nowhere to run. Windows could be sealed against the light, and tunnels could lead anywhere, particularly darkness.
"Looks empty—no activity," Mike murmured as he listened for sounds at the property's perimeter.
Standing on a lush carpet of golf-course-quality grass, the team stared up at the impressive whitewashed, six-columned mansion that had two levels of sweeping verandas running the length of the house, which was complete with multiple wings and an arched carriage port. Mature trees bowed and swayed in the breeze, draping Spanish moss as though it were made of ladies curtseying with hoop skirts at a Krewe masquerade ball.
"Not bad for a freed black sugar plantation owner back in the day… but, why is it white? Thought Nuit wouldn't stand for it. They normally don't like that color," Damali said in a quiet, concerned voice.
"At some point, he obviously had to fit in," Rider said, staring at the mansion. "Couldn't be too blatant in an era that still burned people suspected of witchcraft in town squares, now could he? Ingenious bastard."
Damali and Mike's eyes followed Rider's line of vision. Strange symbols had been etched in the black wrought-iron railing in front of the verandas, and on the shutters. To the unaware, the designs would appear to be simple artistic license to add beauty to the home. Some of the subtle markings looked like a family crest woven into ornate curlicues, but there was no doubt in the team's mind that it represented a vampire crest for Nuit's territory. Money, power, fame—Nuit's trinity.
"Thought they couldn't deal with iron?" Big Mike muttered, still studying the house.
"That's witches, not vamps—get your lore right," Rider said.
"All right," Damali said in a weary tone, "Mike's bad. Let's go around back and do this fast."
"Summertime is ripe with thunderstorms, D," Big Mike said as they all looked up at the darkening clouds.
"You have got to be kidding me." Rider sniffed the air. "Now our flight could be delayed. If my nose wasn't all jacked up by the crypt I would have smelled rain coming. Damn!"
"It's summertime in the storm belt… floods here, too."
"Well, Mike, I just suddenly feel better!"
"C'mon, guys. We're wasting time."
On Damali's command, they crept to the back of the expansive three-level structure and found a small back window that led into a stone pantry at the ground floor. She nodded, and Big Mike pried the wooden door open, breaking the L-shaped iron latch.
As they stepped into the dark terrain, she noted that the windows weren't covered, and Rider motioned to silently suggest that they take a quick look upstairs. If too much light were evident, that usually meant a house wouldn't be occupied by night-dwelling inhabitants—which also meant that they'd just broken into a private home.
Stealing up a narrow flight of brick-and-stone steps, they stood in awe of the fully furnished, very clean, functional interior. Damali, Mike, and Rider glanced around at the expensive period furniture, Damali noting that the place had the color scheme of New Orleans king cake—purple for justice, green for faith, gold for power. Stained glass was set in the main doors, which opened to a Gone with the Wind staircase. Light poured in everywhere. She shook her head, as did Rider and Big Mike. Nothing came up on their internal sensors. The vampires' helpers often inherited from vamps, or kept their establishments running in their absence, but this place had too much light for a vamp to fall through.
"I don't think so, either," Damali said quietly, keeping her voice to a near whisper. "Even in their lairs, Marlene said, if the houses are flooded with too much light, it's almost like a battery drain while they're in-state."
"Right. They usually block off a whole wing or a corridor, unless they do the old-fashioned graveyard burial thing." Rider nodded and sniffed, and then shrugged.
"I'm told, by reliable sources," Big Mike said with a wide grin, "that the dirt thing is passe. They do underground condos, or subbasements in mansions. You are talking Dracula era, before indoor plumbing."
"I will not venture to ask how you came about this deep knowledge," Rider said with a testy voice. "But, that is pertinent information. Let's roll."
"Wait a minute," Damali said. "Does the inside of this house look smaller than the outside did to you?"
Rider and Big Mike glanced around.
"Oh, shit." Rider sighed. "You know, if you're wrong, I believe breaking and entering is a felony worth up to five to ten years in the state pen—which will make the compound seem like a vacation paradise. You cannot just break into a real person's house and explain to the maid or butler that you came to exhume a body from the basement—at least you have to have a permit!"
"Yeah, I know," Damali said. "But if this was once his lair, and it has so much light now… Doesn't make sense. Why would he keep it? Yeah, he could have moved, but he's in the high-rent district in New Orleans, and this is mecca for the North American vamps. Hmmm."
With her hands out before her, she closed her eyes, walking and making a small circle the way Marlene had once shown her. "I don't feel any energy coming from the western side of the house."
"The sun sets in the west, their dawn. Makes sense to me, D." Big Mike shrugged and started walking. "Hit it from the sub-level—the ground floor… since they don't have formal basements because of the waterline. Let's see if there's a false wall down there."
"This is such a bad idea, folks," Rider complained as a strike of lightning flashed outside through the huge bay window of the parlor. "The storm just ate up daylight, and we're going into a known lair, trapped in a stone pantry—which in my mind is the same as a basement. I am not liking this."
Regardless of Rider's protest, the small group made their way back down into the pantry area, passed through several rooms, and began feeling the western wall.
"Look around this room," Damali said after a few minutes of their efforts and having made no headway. "No windows. We came in on the east side that had windows and the door Mike opened, went through a middle section," she said, motioning to the room they'd just been in, which had one teeny window. "Now, in this section, there's nothing in here but dust and old wine racks. The bottles on the shelves are filled. Something isn't right. I can feel it in my gut."
"Want me to light it up in here? I can do that," Big Mike said, "but we were trying to keep on the DL. The little bit of gray coming from the other room gives us cover—just like it was necessary to park the car out of sight. Understand?"
"Yeah, Mike, but I want to get behind one of these racks to check the wall."
Mike nodded, and moved forward.
"Hold up, and this time I'm not just making idle complaints," Rider said, his tone serious.
The group gave him their attention.
"You smell something, Rider?" Big Mike asked, studying him.
"Yeah."
"I do, too," Damali said.
"You got blood in your nose, don't you? Rider, you always get this sick look when you do." Big Mike folded his huge arms over his chest.
Rider covered his mouth and pointed toward the bottles. "Take one in the other room so we can check it out before Mike lights a UV torch."
Working fast, Damali extracted a dusty bottle as the group paced quickly behind her. She held it up to the gray streaks of light and wiped off the dirty label; they all stared at the crest.
"Arrogant sonofabitch has his own private stock." Rider was about to spit, but changed his mind when Damali shook her head.
"Okay," Damali sighed, handing the bottle of black liquid to Big Mike. "Time to light a torch."
Rider groaned as the threesome again made their way into the darkness and stood back while Mike set down the bottle and unzipped his duffle bag. He produced a small battery-powered stage light and handed Rider and Damali each a long, concert light wand.
"Everybody hold a light and a stake," Mike murmured, passing out the equipment. "Just to be on the safe side. Might want a few drum anchors in your pockets, too."
They nodded as Mike flicked on a lamp and shined it against the bottles and stone wall and stared. As soon as the light hit the targeted area, the wall started giving way as though a crumbling illusion. The center of the solid mass simply burned where the lamp first struck it and peeled back. It was like watching a photo catch flame in an ashtray, the middle of it smolder, then blacken, and then curl toward the edges of the frame to reveal a new image.
"Oh, shit!"
"Rider, man, what is this?"
"The light," Damali whispered. "The light is burning away the illusion!"
Stepping back fast, Damali's light wand inadvertently touched the floor, which also started vanishing from the point by her boot where her wand had connected with it, creating a cavern that began swallowing her feet. She immediately scrambled, trying not to drop into the yawning opening. Rider yanked Big Mike by his shirt to fall against the eastern wall, but wherever their lights fell seemed to make solid structure evaporate.
The floor was disintegrating so fast that she lost her balance. "Hit the lights!" she yelled as her wand fell into the opening pit around her, along with the duffle bag and some of the unpacked stakes. Floor space kept edging away from her and the team, and she caught herself from dropping into the abyss by holding onto Rider's legs while he and Mike scrambled to anchor themselves to the dissolving door frame.
With one hand, Mike was able to switch off the bright lamp and grab onto the wood frame with other. Rider's wand had been swallowed beneath him. He was clinging to Mike's waist for dear life, as Damali precariously dangled by his boot.
"Hang on, Damali!" Rider yelled. "Pull up on my leg, sweetheart, then take my hand. Mike, move back, slow and easy. Get us out of this, and I'll never rib you about being a big, lurchy motherfucker again! Pull!"
She wrapped her arms around Rider's boot and pressed her face against his pant leg. She could hear Mike's grunts of exertion as he used his raw strength to draw her out of the hole, using Rider as a human rope. Dirt and rock bit into her forearms, scraping her skin, but she could feel progress—then something grabbed hold of her legs.
"Something's got me! Hurry," she yelled. "I can't shake it!"
"If you're scratched, they smell blood, baby—give me your hand!"
Kicking and twisting, but trying not to lose her grasp on Rider, she could feel icy, sharp fingers snatching at her legs. Panic made her struggle wildly at first, hindering Rider's efforts. Then she stopped fighting so he wouldn't lose his grip on her hand, and she tried t
o keep her body still for a moment to also make the thing about her legs grow confident. She needed to trap it against her to use its own position against it. Her lips murmured a prayer. She let one get a good hold on her legs as the snakelike thing slithered between them. Damali snapped her calves shut, bent her knees, and forcefully brought her shins and the creature's snake-like head forward against the jagged cavern wall.
Immediately, whatever had her dropped away, and she used her remaining strength to push her boots against the wall to climb to safety up Rider's leg.
"We're outta here," she said, panting.
"No argument," Rider said.
"I think we found the lair, li'l sis. I'm good if you are. Let's roll."
"Roger that," Rider said, coughing from the dust that had been kicked up in the struggle, as they all stood and began to run.
They bolted to the adjoining room, and then fled through the next, until they were outside panting and running in the torrential storm, leaving snarling sounds behind them.
"Ain't got nothin' to sweep the car," Mike said, out of breath as they approached it. "Could be infested—the cloud cover and rain don't leave much light."
"Fuck it, dude," Rider said, huffing air. "We're in the car, and we motor!"
"Some things gotta be addressed the old-fashioned way. If it's infested, we kick its ass." Damali flung a car door open and jumped in, brandishing drum anchors as a weapon.
The others jumped in behind her, and they all peered around the car interior as she started the ignition, shifted into gear, and pulled out.
"The flight is going to be delayed, judging by the weather."
Big Mike nodded his agreement to her observation, but was clearly still too charged to speak.
"We're not doing New Orleans in a thunderstorm, at night, after opening a lair with no weapons. That's out. Don't even consider it."