by G A Chase
She walked into town, dejected. None of her allies were rock-solid. The bikers might keep their eyes open for something unusual, but they were only trying to curry favor with Bart. Any sighting from the sloshed slugs would be unreliable. The offer of free drinks had a way of making barflies see things that weren’t there.
She’d fared even worse with the gator hunters. If anything, those assholes might give a demon a ride into town if they stumbled across one, as Cody had. Since Bart was offering a free drink for information, Riley might forgive an entire bar tab for the delivery of another demonic customer just to compete.
The alligators were her best bet, but even they were motivated more by food than fear. The paranormal buckshot that she’d used as her calling card only went so far. If she did manage to slow down the four demons, that would only leave the gators with no new doppelgängers from hell to eat. She couldn’t rely on them hanging around the interdimensional gate forever. Lefty was the only creature she could really count on out here—and maybe Bart.
She snuck back into Larry’s machine shop, not that anyone seemed to be paying any attention. By the time the gator hunters had finished retelling the story over their dinners she’d be the laughingstock of the town. Guys who were overly concerned about their masculinity couldn’t help but put down a woman who’d shown some backbone. They would probably belittle her alligator contingent like guys bragging about their own dick sizes. Their catches would certainly sound far more impressive than the swamp lizards she’d tricked into swimming along with her. In any case, she had more important issues to deal with than hunter stories.
“Fuck ’em all.” Sere pulled out her battered shotgun to inspect the damage. Lefty had crushed the barrels but good. “Damn it. I hate having to ask Joe for another favor.” She looked around the machine shop, once again missing the master mechanic who’d been so nice to her. “I’ll bet you’d have this thing fixed up in time for one of Kelly’s dessert pies.”
Her obligation to the people Monty had ruined would be nothing compared to the carnage caused by the demons that would follow. To keep the memories fresh, she counted out the individuals on her fingers. “First, there’s Larry. The sweet man was just trying to help. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get my motorcycle back, I might have noticed I was being followed. Then, Kelly suffered the same fate for the same reason. I don’t even know the names of the rest of the people Monty killed while perfecting his murderous habit, only that a total of seven were reported on by the news. I guess that’s another thing for my to-do list—I need to get a copy of that news report or go to the cops for the files. Yeah, that should be easy, since I’m their number-one suspect and any request could put me behind bars.”
But her debt didn’t end with those who’d lost their lives. She continued with her self-flagellating list. “Montgomery Fisher, CPA, I haven’t forgotten you. I swore I’d get that demon out of you, and I will.” She lifted another finger next to the one representing Monty’s real. “Thomas is completely my fault. I can’t even blame some doppelgänger for his troubles. Once I figure out how to save Mr. Fisher, I’ll be headed your way.” She stared at her fingers. She was responsible for nine souls, eight of which were just the result of one demon finding his way out of hell.
The two canebrake rattlesnakes slithered against her feet. “I do still have you two. Guess I’m just better at fighting than persuading.”
She pulled her leather riding pants, halter top, and boots from her saddlebags. There was no other option than to leave the protection of the swamp in Lefty’s capable jaws. If the demons did make it by him, the best she could do was establish a barrier between the Northshore and New Orleans.
Without the shotgun, the holster around her leg was like the phantom pain of a missing limb. She lifted the mangled hunk of metal from Larry’s workbench. Though having it strapped to her leg would give her a sense of balance, giving in to the temptation to pull it out in a fight would leave her unarmed.
She snapped open the barrels and pulled out the shells. “No point in wasting ammunition.” The single-barrel gun that she usually kept in her bedroll for emergencies wouldn’t afford her much protection in a fight, but it would at least buy her some time to escape. She pulled it out from under the headlight and dropped it into the oversized holster. It rattled loosely in the leather pocket.
Finally, she lifted the snakes from the floor and returned them to her saddlebags. “I suppose this is the best I can expect until I reach Joe.”
Night had fallen by the time she wheeled her Triton out of the mechanic’s garage. No one seemed to pay much attention to her as she fired up the old motor. She felt like an unwanted stray dog that was leaving town.
Before taking a left onto the dark highway that wound around the swamp, she looked back at the sleepy little hamlet. “Hell is coming, and you fools don’t even care.”
18
Chapter 6
Even with the Triton’s motor working like a white-noise machine on the long ride down to Joe’s cabin, Sere was pissed. “What’s the point in trying to protect people who never listen?”
Sure, she had a personal motive in sending the demons back to hell. She wasn’t so delusional as to think her actions were in any way altruistic. After all, the only people she’d met in life who had been truly nice to her had been killed. But maintaining the balance between the living, the dead, and the damned also wasn’t purely for her own protection. People had a right to be safe from beings from other dimensions. “That may be the only thing I have in common with these people. They shouldn’t be killed by demons, and I shouldn’t have my soul stolen by the loas of the dead.”
She’d been back among the living for months, and so far, the loas hadn’t caught on to her deception. “I’m just being paranoid. So long as the loas can’t connect me to the death of a living human being, there’s no reason for them to come looking for me. With seven billion souls wandering the earth, they can’t keep tabs on everyone.”
She was special, though—the only soul stolen from Guinee—and the devil himself had made her that way. That wasn’t the type of action the loas could let stand. The memory of being a little girl standing on the river’s levee with Sanguine’s protective wings shielding her from the storm still haunted Sere.
“What just happened?” she’d asked. As a child looking up at the magical angel, Sere couldn’t understand why the others hadn’t simply turned her back over to the lords of the afterlife.
“Hell has lost its devil.” A crystal-clear tear fell from Sanguine’s magical eye.
“I don’t even know what that means,” Sere said.
“In life, your father’s actions earned him the title of devil. To avoid death, he deceived the loas of the dead and ended up joining them as their most powerful baron. Even then, he wasn’t satisfied, and no one is hated more than a person who betrays his companions. With his new immortality and power, Baron Malveaux rejoined the living in an attempt to rule over that dimension as well. If it hadn’t been for my grandmother spending her life building this place, Kendell stumbling across the curse that would be his undoing, and more voodoo magic than you can imagine, he might have succeeded.”
Sere never was a fan of long-winded explanations. “What does that have to do with me?” she’d asked.
The angel had caressed Sere’s gossamer red hair. “You are the love that saved him.”
Took his place, more like, Sere thought as she raced down the highway. Kendell and Myles secretly dumping her father’s black soul into the deep waters—the source of all humanity—had ended him as a threat. The loas, however, demanded a reckoning. Leaving Sere in hell had balanced the equation. Sere had expressed that idea to her guardian angel on several occasions.
“That’s not what happened,” Sanguine would reply. “Your father sacrificed his existence so you could have a life. You were so young when you died.”
Sere squeezed the handgrips of her motorcycle. You all kept saying that I died, like I wasn’t res
ponsible for what happened. I killed myself, even if it was the curse that finished me off. But the fact that she’d put herself in Guinee didn’t mean she had any desire to return there. As a little girl, she’d felt helpless against the evils of her father. Now that she’d grown and escaped to the life those around her believed she should have, she might be the only one who could save humanity from her father’s hell.
So long as the loas believed the evil baron’s soul was still being held prisoner by Sanguine and Kendell, a détente between the three dimensions was maintained. But if they ever figured out that it was the baron, and not Sere, who had been poured back into the deep waters, they would reopen the case. And because she was no longer in hell, they’d find that voodoo box empty. Too many people had put too much on the line for her to act recklessly with the living souls she ran across. Any unexplained death could lead to her unmasking. Once discovered, there would be no one capable of defending the living from hell’s fury.
She twisted the throttle as far as it would go. Untangling the knot of souls was for other, smarter people. She’d been trained to take action.
But just like these dumb rural fucks, I’ve been refusing the help that’s most obvious. Looks like I owe Kendell and Myles an apology next time I’m in New Orleans.
Though she didn’t want to face the inevitability of leaving her adopted swamp home, she was headed south. Once she was done with Joe, there weren’t a lot of options of where to make her stand outside of the big city. But whatever her history and her future, the fact remained: she owed a debt to the living.
Sere shut down her motorcycle a half mile from Joe’s cabin. The man had an unnerving ability to wake up at the slightest unexpected rustling of the trees. At two in the morning, she couldn’t imagine a better time to conduct a sneak attack on her mentor.
As was frequently the case in the bayou, not a single leaf stirred in the night air. She watched the shadows cast by the moonlight for any indication of movement. A lone pine bough lazily waved from an owl taking flight.
I suppose it wouldn’t be any fun if creeping up on him was easy. She carefully leaned back against the motorcycle seat to strip off her shotgun holster, leather jacket, and alligator boots. Though she didn’t need the protection of her Ranger knife, Joe would consider her attack only half-successful if she showed up without it. The cold steel chilled her back as she slid the blade under the catch of her halter top.
Even at that distance from his cabin, she eased off the motorcycle to prevent the springs from making any sound. She stared at the dark structure nestled far off in the trees. There’s no point in searching for a light. If he does hear me, it’s not like he’s going to announce that fact. The cat doesn’t yell “I see you” to the mouse. If he spots me, he’ll conduct a counterattack. And knowing Joe, I’ll never see it coming. I need those eyes in the back of my head that he keeps talking about.
The shadows made a random lace pattern along the path. If he’s asleep, the dirt road will make an easier approach—fewer twigs and rocks that might give me away. If he’s awake, however, he’ll certainly notice me moving in the moonlight.
She edged into the small grass field beside the motorcycle. Dew had formed on the tender blades from the ever-present humidity, wetting her bare feet. Damp vegetation makes less noise but leaves a clearer track. She bent down to read the glen. The evenly spaced claw prints of a possum trailed along the road while a curving line indicated that a large snake hadn’t been far behind, sneaking through the grass.
Sere ran the blades between her fingertips. No new droplets. They must have passed just before I pulled up.
She chose the snake’s path, which wound along the edge of the trees. With her toes, she felt the narrow line of flattened vegetation. The temptation to hurry along the established route conflicted with her desire to remain as invisible as possible. I need to be in position in case those two animals have it out. They’d make a perfect distraction.
The snake continued hunting its prey along the side of the road, just far enough in the shadows that Sere felt confident she hadn’t been seen. When her toes encountered the mat of pine needles that surrounded Joe’s cabin, she turned toward the river and away from the snake’s pursuit. She crouched low behind a tree trunk and checked her analog watch. 2:45 a.m. Fifteen minutes. Not bad.
The cabin remained dark and quiet. If Joe had woken up, he wasn’t making any indication. She listened hard, hoping to catch any sound at all. He probably taught himself how not to snore.
As a child, waiting had always been the hardest part of her sneak attacks. She well remembered the week Joe had assigned her to shadow a black panther in order to learn the art of savoring the pursuit. The great cat acted like she had all the time in the world while on the prowl. Only at the moment of the kill did the huntress release her full strength and speed.
A barely heard rustling on the far side of the cabin indicated the snake had made its move. The battle wouldn’t last long and would undoubtedly attract Joe’s attention. On the rocks nestled among the potentially noisy needles, Sere danced like a ninja ballerina, twirling on her toes. She sprinted up to the wood deck behind the cabin just as the possum let out its death cry.
Sere’s heart was pounding hard. She’d never before made it onto Joe’s deck unobserved—though just because he hadn’t hit the floodlights didn’t mean he wasn’t playing with her. She pulled the knife from her back and slid it between the door and the frame. Only one lock. Based on the complexity that he put into securing his hidden caches, she wasn’t sure if she should have expected more or if he simply relied on his skills over mechanical tricks. The hasp made a soft click as she pressed the knife into the gap. She slid the glass door open just wide enough to squeeze through.
The razor-sharp edge of an assassin’s knife sliced just deep enough into the base of Sere’s throat that she stood stone-still.
“Not bad.” Joe eased off on the pressure of the blade against her skin.
Fuck. “What tipped you off?”
He flipped on the lights before finally taking the knife away from her neck. “It was the snake attack. The little slithery bastards never strike this close to the cabin. Usually, they wait until they’re at the water’s edge, where they feel more at ease. I had to assume that either the possum suspected he was being followed, or the snake thought she had competition.”
Damn it! “So you were just playing with me by letting me make it into the cabin this time?” She turned to face him. He was still wearing only his boxer shorts.
“The snake put me on edge. I didn’t know for sure that I was being played until I heard the lock pop open. You’re getting quite good with those gymnast moves, Sere.” Joe wasn’t one for false compliments. Using her name was all the praise she needed or was likely to receive. “What brings you out here at this hour?”
“Lefty munched my shotgun.” She felt like a stupid schoolgirl telling her teacher that her dog had eaten her homework.
“Is his aim any better than yours?” There was the snarky Joe she knew and loved.
“Barely.” Giving Joe as much information as possible often resulted in him coming up with unexpected strategies, so she laid out all latest developments. “I’ve all but been run out of the parish. Bart is still on my side, but he’s too lazy to get out from behind his bar. Lefty is doing what he can to protect hell’s gate. Other than those two, I’ve kind of made a mess of things. Riley has sworn to shoot me on sight. Her regulars are more apt to buy a demon a drink than try to kill it. And the bikers will only help enough to get them their next free beer. Basically, I’m persona non grata up there.”
“So what’s your plan?” Joe asked. “You just going to ride up and down the highway shouting ‘The demons are coming’ to every house you pass, Paulette Revere?”
Does he take anything seriously? “Even I know rumors spread fast up there. By tomorrow morning, I’ll be the laughingstock of the Northshore. But if I don’t figure out a way to stop the remaining four doppelg
ängers from going on killing sprees, demons will start coming out of the swamp like termites swarming on a humid summer night.”
Joe pulled out a section of welded tubing, marked off the length with a piece of chalk, and started the old-fashioned nickel-plated grinder.
I’ve seen this before. He thinks best when his hands are busy. She sat quietly on the work stool like a child watching her father putting together a prized toy.
He didn’t speak until he had the gun barrels filed down and ready for the stock. “So you’re headed back to New Orleans?”
“I don’t see much choice. Without me stopping them up north, the doppelgängers will be headed for their reals in the city. If I can get eyes on the potential victims, hopefully we can stop the demons before it’s too late.”
His stare reminded her of how she analyzed a room: cold, calculating, and searching for assets and liabilities. “Bullshit. You plan on making yourself the target. Protecting other people would involve enlisting help, and you want to go this alone.”
Damn you, Joe. Why can’t I ever keep anything secret from you?
“I’m not going into hiding,” she said. “Trying to disguise my appearance only handicapped me against Monty. If I’m right about my opponent’s thinking, the four will make a concerted attack on me. They’ll want me out of the way before they go on their killing sprees. Once they create enough dead bodies, they’ll go after their reals and take over their lives. At least, that’s what I’d promise them if I were leading the attack—their version of Nirvana. I’m guessing that what happened to Monty before I decapitated him wouldn’t be common knowledge in hell.”