The Devil's Daughter Box Set

by G A Chase

  She leaned hard into a right turn and twisted the throttle. “I can’t do my best if I’m constantly worrying about those loa-life assholes. They’re immortal. I’m immortal. We’re just going to have to figure out a way to coexist.” The words, however, only gave her a momentary sense of bravery. “The best way to keep the loas off my tail isn’t to turn and run. I have to make a stand against those doppelshits up here, where I can better control the aftermath of dead bodies—real and fake. Stopping the human carnage before it gets started has to be my number-one aim. Even if I can’t dissolve the demons, maybe I can convince these rural hicks to be on the watch for strangers in their towns.”

  Sere pulled into Riley’s all-too-familiar gravel parking lot and shut down her café racer. Bart’s establishment, Bubba’s Bar and Grill, was still a good twenty miles down the road, but getting into a bar fight with his customers might not be the best way to enlist the obnoxiously hot bartender’s cooperation. The gator hunter’s bar, however, was an all-too-convenient place for Sere to work out her aggressions. Combat training with Joe involved skill and cunning—bar brawls were far less mentally taxing and much more fun. Between bar regular Cody, whose boat she’d borrowed without permission and truck tires she’d slashed, and Riley, who’d managed a well-aimed rifle shot into Sere’s leg, she was assured a hostile greeting. Plus, taking on a bar full of drunk assholes to relieve the stress of the long ride beat showing up at Bart’s with her unresolved emotions.

  She unbuckled the holster of the four-barrel sawed-off shotgun and laid it over the rattlesnake-protected saddlebags. The blaster might prove too daunting even for the aggressive bar dudes. A rattling from within the gator-skin panniers indicated that her snakes weren’t happy about her entering a fight so lightly armed.

  “Relax. Joe might be able to knock me on my ass, but I’ve yet to be beaten hand to hand by a group of drunken rednecks.” She checked the butt of her knife, which projected beyond the top of her boot. “I have what I need.”

  She pushed her way through the door like an Old-West gunman ready for a showdown. Unfortunately, Riley was ready for her. As soon as the door closed behind Sere, the curvy bar owner in skimpy jean shorts and a tiny T-shirt stepped out from behind the bar with her rifle at her hip, aimed at Sere’s stomach.

  “I expected you’d come back eventually.”

  Sere made her customary quick scan of the premises. As Riley was standing front and center, holding a weapon, she was first up for Sere’s evaluation. In spite of the casual way Riley held the gun, the barmaid had proven her marksmanship when she’d plugged Sere’s leg on a moving motorcycle from fifty feet away. But the woman had also lent Sere her boat to go after Monty. Riley’s loyalties could be fickle that way. If Sere could provide some entertainment, the bar owner might back off to watch the show. A good brawl had to beat cleaning a pool of blood off the rough-hewn wooden floor.

  Camo Boy Cody hadn’t even changed chairs, let alone clothes, since their last encounter. The linebacker-turned-alcoholic still had muscle mass going for him but lacked the brains to use it beyond ramming into people.

  Lurking in the shadows near the jukebox was a dude more intent on his date than on the confrontation. The girl pushed her hand against his chest as though playing hard to get, but based on the white cutoffs that crept up her ass cheeks and the halter top thin enough to display her rock-hard nipples, Sere guessed that her date wouldn’t take the protest too seriously. If the couple joined in the fight, it would be merely because they were trying to get out the front door and into his truck before the cops showed up and checked on the girl’s ID.

  Behind Sere, a guy who fashioned himself as the bar bouncer leaned against the front door with folded arms. That much of a cocky attitude invariable resulted in a guy being more concerned about his junk than physical aggression in a bar. Sere calculated that he was only helping Riley out in an attempt to get into her skintight cutoffs. Poor misguided fool. I’ll bet that woman has an iron-grip vagina strong enough to snap your sniveling cock clean off like a rabbit’s foot in a bear trap.

  She tried not to stare at the remaining guy at the bar, who was slightly hidden by Cody’s massive frame. The man was dressed as a member of the road-construction crew, but his movements were too precise for someone who’d spent the day doing hard labor. Fuck! The doppelgänger’s skin hadn’t turned translucent yet, but he was far too pale to pull off the outdoor look.

  Sere’s observations took a split second. She’d completed her assessment before Riley could spit out her next wad of chewing tobacco. “Looks like you’ve got a new customer,” she said.

  “Thanks to you. Cody picked him up out in the swamp just this morning.” Riley lowered her aim to Sere’s feet. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt the night’s entertainment—just wanted you to see that you’re stuck here until I say otherwise.”

  “Always the classy lady.”

  Riley kept eye contact with Sere but leaned her chin over her shoulder to yell to the room, “Whoever knocks this skanky bitch on her ass drinks free for the rest of the night.”

  Sere gave Cody her squinty snake-eyed stare. The tub of flesh slunk away to the back room. Being bitten by a rattlesnake wasn’t the kind of thing he was likely to forget, even drunk. Not bad. One down before the fight even commences.

  Sere heard the chair scrape against the floor behind her. Your opening move is far too obvious and loud. Clearly, you’re not very experienced at bar brawls.

  She dove for the floor, leaving Bouncer Boy nothing to hit with his swinging chair. He whirled around from the momentum and crashed through the door he’d been protecting. Two down. Looks like it’s just you and me, assgänger.

  She made a quick check of the dark corner to assure herself that the two lovebirds had chosen a less antagonistic form of physical exertion. With the dude’s hands clasped tightly to the girl’s firm breasts and her fingers exploring the top edge of his belt like a snake charmer teasing a cobra out of its basket, neither was in a position to join the fracas.

  Riley had retreated to the area behind the bar but held her rifle over her shoulder as if expecting Sere to make a run for it. Fat chance, Sere thought. I am seriously looking forward to the day I rip that gun out of your hands.

  But Riley could wait. First, Sere had to deal with the demon from hell. She turned to the big guy at the bar. “I’ll wager you aren’t from around these parts.”

  The burly blue-collar worker rose from his barstool, holding an empty beer bottle like a billy club. “Prepare to die.”

  “Not much for small talk, I see.” I need to get this moron between Riley and me so she doesn’t have a shot. Sere held her arms out wide. “Okay, fuck puppet. Show me what you’ve got.” She circled away from the front door while planning her strategy. Though the patrons of the bar would be too drunk or distracted to believe what they were seeing, Riley’s eagle-eyed stare would be sure to catch any strange healings from her new champion.

  Sere backed into the cold metal rim of the round tabletop, which she felt through her leather pants. She consulted her mental inventory of the bar’s furniture. Cheap-ass round wooden tops over smaller barrels that look like someone tried to fit the wrong-sized top on a mason jar. She edged her bottom along the lip until her foot encountered the cast-iron barstool. Make your move, doppelfucker.

  The demon closed in toward her, blocking off Sere’s view of Riley behind the bar. Perfect. Sere spun away from her attacker, grabbed the lip of the table with both hands, and flung it at him. It spun like some medieval Frisbee. The doppelidiot ducked but not low enough, and the wheel of death’s metal rim skidded off the top of his head and knocked him to the floor.

  No problem. That was just decapitation attempt number one. Using her foot, Sere heaved the heavy metal stool up into her hands. The demon struggled back to his feet and dropped his bottle.

  “Here, let me help you with that headache.” Sere let him have it with the barstool. The thick cast-iron base cleaved his head in half. Blood s
pread from his brainless skull, covering the wood-plank floor like red paint from an overturned five-gallon bucket. She increased her grip on the chair. An eyeball rolled out of what had been his head, but too much of the skull was still attached. Sere couldn’t risk him regenerating. Hoping to look like some jilted lover who’d finally gotten even, she took an overhead swing of the cast-iron base and guillotined the mangled remains.

  One doppelgänger decapitated in public. Not the best result but better than having these people see a demon come back to life. If I stick around, though, I might have authorities from both the living and the dead all over my ass.

  Sere tossed the bloody stool through the window behind her. Like a superhero leaving the scene, she turned, launched off the wooden-barrel table base, and flew through the opening in the wall. With one gymnastic tumbling jump, she kicked the starter lever and landed on the back of her motorcycle.

  Riley burst through the front door with a rifle in her hand just as Sere let go of the clutch and gunned the motor. “I don’t give a flying fuck who you are or what you think you’re doing,” the bar owner yelled over the sound of the motorcycle’s squealing back tire. “Show up around my bar again, and my boys will be the least of your worries. This is your final warning.”

  At least that bar bitch isn’t shooting me this time.

  Between the smell of burnt oil and the sound of the backfiring engine, Sere didn’t have to guess which direction Cody’s truck had lumbered off in. She turned her motorcycle down the dirt road toward the swamp. Do you ever go anywhere other than your boat and the bar? I swear, you must spend all of your time on either the thwart or the stool.

  Like a slow-moving turtle trying to outswim an alligator, Cody’s truck was no match for Sere’s motorcycle, though the cloud of dust and smoke did have both her and the Triton gasping for air. Halfway down the access road to the swamp, Cody turned onto an even narrower two-rut road that cut through grass tall enough to brush the undercarriage of his truck. Based on the grunge that coated Sere’s boots as she followed him through the field, she guessed this was a route the truck took often. When the racket of banging metal and poorly tuned engine ceased, Sere pulled off the road and hit the kill switch. She doubted the idiot had anything worth worrying about, but this was his home turf.

  Best to be prepared. She reached into her saddlebags and let the two snakes slither up her arms. Before walking the remaining way to the run-down cabin, she double-checked her shotgun to be sure it was fully loaded. He’d brought one doppelgänger in from the swamp. Where there was one, there could be more.

  As Cody reached for the handle of the torn screen door, Sere pulled her knife and flung it at his wrist. She only missed by a few inches, impaling his arm and tacking it to the doorframe.

  “Fucking whore!” He pulled the blade out of his flesh and cradled his arm like a little sissy.

  “For an ex-football player, you sure aren’t good with pain,” she said.

  “Most people knock on the door when they want something. They don’t skewer the owner like a chunk of meat for the fire.”

  Sere spread her arms, and the two snakes crept out to her wrists, lifted their heads, and hissed ominously at Cody. “I couldn’t be sure you didn’t have another guest in the house like the guy at Riley’s.”

  “Did you ever consider simply asking someone a question without first inflicting bodily injury?”

  “Like you’d just tell me the truth without the threat of retaliation hanging over you.”

  “Retaliation involves harm after the offense, not before. Pretaliation isn’t a thing.”

  This isn’t getting me anywhere. He’s probably stalling to give the demon in the cabin a chance to strike. She draped one of the snakes around her neck and pulled her shotgun out of its holster. “Consider it incentive. Lie to me, and we’ll conduct our interview as we did last time.”

  He kept his hand on his arm to prevent blood loss and lifted it in protection against the snake. “For the love of God, woman, what do you want?”

  She felt like she was talking to a toddler who was being intentionally difficult. “Is there anyone in that cabin?”

  “No. The guy you killed at Riley’s was the only one.”

  It’s never that simple. “So you just gave him a ride into town out of the goodness of your heart?” she asked. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “I swear, have you no sympathy for people at all? It’s only good manners to rescue some fool who got lost. What did you expect me to do—leave him for gator food?”

  She looked Cody over for any sign of deception. The man, wounded and unarmed, wasn’t clever enough to lie. “I think we both know that dude at the bar was no innocent lost soul. I just want to know where you found him and if there were others with him.”

  Cody straightened up as if she’d pushed him as far as he intended to let her. “I’m not giving you any fucking ride back out on the water.”

  Again, she wondered why he couldn’t simply answer her questions like an adult instead of a naughty boy constantly looking for a way out. “Where did you find him?”

  Cody looked about to pass out. “At least let me get a bandage for my arm first.”

  Nice try, asshole. “Answers first.” She aimed the gun at the door just in case there was someone inside.

  “Fine, but it’s not like there’s a map of the swamp or signs at every river inlet. There’s a reason people get lost out there.”

  The smile that touched only the corners of his mouth and slightly crinkled the edges of his eyes told Sere he hoped she’d end up as one of the lost. Fuck. He’ll probably just give me bullshit directions.

  “You’ve gotta get out past the hunting grounds, through the grove of old cypress,” he continued. “Not the secondary-growth forest, but the really old trees. You know what I’m talking about?”

  Duh. I spent most of my life out there. “I’m familiar with the area.”

  “I’m not surprised. The place is creepy as hell. Only a swamp witch would feel at home out there. Deep in that river jungle is a bottomless pond that has no business being there. It’s almost as if someone has dredged the area looking for something. Crystal-clear water isn’t natural in the bayou. I found that guy sitting against a tree, looking out on the water like some damn idiot.”

  “Could you find the spot again?”

  Cody scampered back against the door of his cabin. “I told you before, I’m not your bayou tour guide. I swear, that’s all I know. Now, can I please wrap this knife wound?”

  “Toss me my blade first. If you’re lying to me, my snakes might pay you a little midnight visit.”

  He heaved the combat knife halfway out to her. “Lady, I swear to God, I’d tell you anything just to never have to see you again.”

  Sere rode through town at a leisurely pace. One brawl resulting in a killing was more than enough incentive for the cops to hunt her down. She didn’t need to add a speeding ticket to the charges. Riley wasn’t going to make a fuss and risk having her bar shut down as a crime scene, and no one was going to mourn a soulless puppet. Just the same, people talked. Sere needed to get out of there and focus on the dangers ahead.

  The doppelfuckwads were moving fast. To stay on top of them, she was going to need updates on the goings-on in the little out-of-the-way bars. There was only one person along the winding highway that bordered the swamp who might listen. Bartender Smooth, I guess one day I should learn your real name.

  The twenty-mile ride gave her just enough time to think. She hadn’t hesitated in decapitating the doppelgänger in Riley’s bar, but there were ramifications to consider. Monty’s beheading had resulted in his real, Mr. Montgomery Fisher, being possessed by his evil double. The two had already met, however. Professor Yates had been clear that such a meeting between doppelgänger and real could have unfortunate consequences, and possession was one of them. Plus, Monty was killed in Mr. Fisher’s presence, making the transfer that much easier.

  The only other possess
ion Sere had encountered was that of Professor Yates’s original lab assistant, Thomas. I was a child, and that doppelgänger hybrid never should have been created in the first place. I know Thomas blames me for the demon inside him, but his case was unique.

  Based on the two previous beheadings, Sere was fairly sure that Riley’s doppelidiot would have only transferred an unexplained hangover to his real. Decapitation was more satisfying than blasting one of these carnival silhouettes with her shotgun. Still, Sere needed to at least get his name for her journal. It was still possible that in some dive bar, a passed-out road worker would wake up with deadly desires and killer instincts. If so, she had to be prepared.

  I’ll ask Bart to probe Riley on what she knows. The road made a long gentle uphill curve out of town. Sere was riding the same hill she’d coasted down to Kelly’s Diner a couple of months before. Don’t think about her. She and Larry are together at last.

  She needed to stay focused on what she’d learned. If there was a weakness in her paramilitary training, it was the ingrained expectation that her opponent had a similar skill set. Riley’s doppelidiot proved that wasn’t the case. This wouldn’t be the well-orchestrated attack she’d feared at Joe’s—it would be a bunch of random bar-brawl cage matches. And if Sere didn’t show up for the events, the devilish demons might raise holy hell with whomever they found just to get her attention.

  Must be difficult corralling a group of soulless idiots let out of hell like college students on spring break. The one constant is that all these doppelhomies will be headed to New Orleans to confront their reals and party like the damned—killing randomly as they go.

  She swung the Triton around the curves that cut through the forest. The roadway displayed by her headlight took on the familiar red tint that indicated she was letting her emotions get the better of her. Thinking about soliciting help from Bart had that effect on her. He always seemed to catch her at her worst and most exposed. At least she’d be able to make her petition fully dressed this time. Just once, she wanted to catch him with his pants down and in need of her help. But today wasn’t going to be that day.