The Devil's Daughter Box Set

by G A Chase

  “I thought we were getting back to you.” Bart said.

  “I’m Kendell’s biggest single mistake. You remember how my father’s office was the seventh gate to Guinee?”

  “I am following along, Sere.”

  “Okay. Well, Kendell got the bright idea that I should be a gate guardian. Kind of a give-the-devil-his-due type of situation. Because I was dead, they used the old office as the gate so I could be contacted in Guinee. Time in the afterlife can be a fucked-up mess when it comes to interdimensional gates. In my time line, I’d only been dead a few days when Kendell contacted me through the newly reinstated Baron Samedi. God, I still hate that loa.”

  Bart gripped Sere’s shoulders like he was about to toss her out of harm’s way. “Kendell is responsible for you being made into a doppelgänger?”

  “Indirectly, though she really should have known better than to tempt my father with my soul like that. Using the interdimensional vault that he stole, his cursed personal possessions, and my blood, which was left caked on the pipe tool, father was able to yank me through the gate. He’d already abducted Jennifer’s six-year-old doppelgänger and put her in the magical box. And there you have me: Sere the soul inhabiting Jennifer the doppelgänger. I was to be the devil’s first immortal. He had the audacity to think he could continue stealing the souls of the recently deceased from the loas and create his own dimension filled with those who would bow down to him.”

  “But your father is no longer in hell, is he?” Bart asked.

  “Papa Ghede—the watcher of the seven loas of the dead—offered his help to Myles. His intention was to return my stolen soul back to Guinee, but Kendell and Sanguine had other ideas. Instead of slipping me through the gates and back to Guinee, they captured my father and dragged him to the deep waters. That’s why the loas are such a threat to me. They believe there’s a soul left in hell: my father. If they found out that they were duped and I’m the one still free of their grasp, they’ll come after me. And if they find that I’m not in hell, they’ll tear this world apart looking for me. They can be pretty single-minded when it comes to escaped spirits.”

  “What about the bank explosion and the special shotgun shells?”

  Sere leaned forward over his chest, laid a passionate kiss on his succulent lips, and closed her legs around his growing erection. “That’s another story. Now, show me what other interesting things you can do with that cock.”

  Dawn was just breaking when they left the run-down house. Sere had never felt more genuinely human. Her body tingled from head to toe. “I don’t want you to get a big head, but that sex was pretty amazing.”

  Bart had his arm around her waist. “Right back at ya.”

  It wasn’t exactly the response she’d hoped for. “Even better than Edie, Riley, or any of the other bimbos you take to bed?”

  “Not even close. I only had sex with those women out of boredom.”

  She looked up at him, wondering how close his experiences with women had been to hers with doppelgängers. “And you don’t feel bad about that?”

  “Why should I? They used me every bit as much as I did them. There was nothing emotional or romantic about our encounters.”

  “And what about us?” Sere asked, wondering if it was possible for someone to have a true emotional connection with her. She was, after all, physically more doll than human.

  The lines around his eyes straightened into a harsh stare. “With all of your abilities to connect to people, do you really have to ask? Of course what we just had was emotional—more than that. I’m not going to bullshit you and say I’ve never experienced anything like it before, but this wasn’t some quick fuck just to get it out of the way. You and I were bonded before sex. What we just did only confirmed that connection. If you expect some idealized wine, chocolates, and roses type of romance out of me, though, I’m afraid you’re going to be wildly disappointed.”

  She didn’t know what she expected. “Well, if you think I’m going to be some little whore who spreads her legs for you every time you flash those dimples, you’re the one who’s going to be wildly disappointed.” She regretted the outburst the moment it was out of her mouth.

  “I sometimes forget how limited your experience is with being in love.”

  “Who said anything about being in love?” she demanded.

  He leaned on the seat of his motorcycle and pulled her between his legs. His half-bent position brought him down to her eye line. “I did. I only have two emotional settings when it comes to sex: casual and serious. There is no in-between for me. You can throw all the snarky rejoinders at me that you want, but deep down, I know you feel the same.”

  She didn’t like having the emotional spotlight illuminating her soul. “If you were so attracted to me, why did you wait until I made the first move? I thought alpha males went after what they wanted.”

  “I tried to, but each time I got close, you pulled away.” His hands felt warm and comforting on her hips. “It isn’t like we’ve had a lot of free time together. Besides, I was afraid any overt seduction might be misinterpreted, and I didn’t want to get stabbed in the gut just for making a pass.”

  He had a point. Even in hell, where she’d been able to direct the actions of the doppelgänger cock dolls, she’d never allowed one to have the leading role. She ran her hands over her arms, wishing she were still naked on the bed with his hands exploring her body. Being outside with the cool fall breeze on her skin only highlighted that it wasn’t really her body.

  “I suppose I wouldn’t have trusted any man who tried something sexual with this body.”

  He pulled her so close she had to put her hands on his chest for balance. “Are you worried that I might somehow be attracted to Jennifer’s body? Don’t be. Here’s the way I see it. You’re damn good with that knife in your boot, but I’ve seen you use my combat blade with equal skill. It’s not about the weapon. It’s about the person wielding it.”

  She ran her hands up his chest to his neck, wondering if she could be as spiritually pure with her desires. “Maybe so, but you have to admit that having a long stiff blade helps get the job done.”

  His laughter forced his cock against her. “Using the right tool always helps.”

  She looked into the brightening sky. “Much as I’d love to spend all day in bed with you, we’ve got a new devil to stop. Kendell and Myles will be cleaning up the Scratchy Dog from last night’s revelry. That seems as good a place as any to rendezvous.”

  “I’ll call Fisher to let him know to meet us on the road.”

  43

  Chapter 15

  As Sere stood inside the door of the Scratchy Dog, she was certain that both Kendell and Myles knew simply by looking at her that she’d just had the best and only real sex of her life. Even if they couldn’t figure it out from her blush—one of the true disadvantages of being stuck in a redhead’s body with its pale-pink flesh that registered every embarrassment like a flashing billboard—they would be able to read the body language. Bart stood so close to her that she could feel the heat radiating from his crotch.

  “I need a drink.”

  “I’ll join you,” Bart said. “We can keep an eye on each other’s intake.”

  Fighting companions, sexual partners, and now drinking buddies—if this isn’t love, I can’t imagine how we could be any closer, Sere thought as she headed to the bar with Bart’s hand at the small of her back. She took her usual spot at the end of the counter, where she could keep an eye on the room.

  Myles pulled out two glasses and the bottle of Jameson’s whiskey. “I’ve grown accustomed to serving Sere any time of the day or night, so I don’t ask when she wants a shot before breakfast. But isn’t it a little early in the day for you?”

  Bart straddled the stool beside Sere. He looked out of place on the customer’s side of the bar. “Hanging with her has turned my world upside down. I’ll take a Jack and Coke.”

  Fisher came out of the back room and slid onto the chair next to Ba
rt. From the moisture on his face, he looked like he’d been trying to get himself together after a long night. “Make mine a Sazerac.”

  Myles finished the three drinks then poured a glass of white wine for Kendell and grabbed an Abita for himself. “Sounds like none of us got any sleep last night.”

  Sere could feel her blush building as she caught Bart’s secretive downcast wink in her direction. She used the excuse of looking past him at Fisher to hide her longing glance in Bart’s direction. “What kept you up?”

  “Thomas didn’t make it.”

  “What?” Sere nearly dropped her drink. “The hole didn’t look that bad. Did I clip some vital organ pulling the pellet out?”

  Fisher downed half of the strong cocktail in one gulp. “The doctors didn’t have an explanation. He just faded out. They resuscitated him numerous times, but in the end, it was as if he didn’t want to come back.”

  Sere could see that Fisher was struggling. Though the treatment wasn’t geared for his situation, the fact that there were the beginnings of a potential cure must have given him room for optimism. Now that one straw of hope had failed.

  “You stayed with him all night?”

  “Most of the night. I spent the last few hours searching for any relatives he might have who’d want to hear of his death. Apparently, he’d alienated everyone he once knew.” Fisher looked down the bar at her. “The last thing he said was for me to convey his thanks. He died as himself and not a demon. Hopefully, that will carry some weight with the loas of the dead.”

  “I’ll see to it that it does,” Myles said. “I’ve still got some pull with Papa Ghede. He owes me for escorting Sere’s father to the deep waters, even if he doesn’t realize it was the devil and not Sere.”

  Knowing Myles was chummy with the loas was a bit like knowing a family member had voted for the repressive political party in the last election. Sere didn’t want anyone to discuss Myles’s connection to the loas, ever. Even so, as Fisher straightened his back from the bar, she could see how Myles’s offer to smooth the way for Thomas’s soul had lifted the possessed man’s gloom.

  “If he didn’t die from his injuries, what do you think happened?” she asked.

  Fisher turned the glass tumbler between his hands as if the rapidly diminishing alcohol could warm his spirit through his palms. “His soul was shredded. The demon had been a part of him for so long that the two had fused. Once that evil was pulled out of him, Thomas didn’t have anything in this life to hold onto.”

  “You have us,” Sere said, “and your family.”

  Myles mixed another Sazerac for Fisher. “Not to mention you’ve done a damn fine job of combating the evil within you. Thomas gave in to it.”

  Fisher held the glass out to Myles with both hands like a beggar accepting change. “Thomas had to deal with the desires for much longer, and he was just a boy when he was possessed. He never really stood a chance. Even if he had survived the exorcism, he probably would have ended up living on the street. I looked into his finances. For the last decade, his primary source of income was petty theft. I don’t doubt that dying free of his evil double came as a relief to him.”

  Sere realized she probably should have been checking on Fisher’s condition. After having sex with Bart, she had a new sense of how self-centered she’d been with those around her. “How are you doing?”

  He held up the refilled glass as if reconsidering his need for a bender so early in the day. “I’d assess my condition as stable. There are times, like now, when the temptation to dive into the darkness is strong, but I’ve got too much to live for.” He looked again at Sere. “Not least of which is being your superhero sidekick. So what’s the next challenge?”

  Sere was glad to get back to forming a plan. Offering sympathy never came naturally to her. “No matter how I look at it, eventually, we’re going to need to get into that bank. That’s where Marjory will be building her devil like Doctor Frankenstein in his laboratory.”

  “Assuming they haven’t already,” Bart said.

  At least sex hasn’t dulled your edge, she thought as she smiled at him. A partner wasn’t much use if he didn’t challenge her. “I’d like to say I’d have felt it if they had, but detecting fellow doppelgängers has never been one of my strengths. If we can stop the melding of human spirit into doppelgänger body, great. If it’s already happened, I’m betting they’ll keep their creation in hiding until they’re ready to use him against me.”

  “I wish we had Joe,” Kendell said from behind the bar. She turned to Sere. “I’m sorry if that sounded insensitive.”

  Sere downed the rest of her Jameson. “It wasn’t. We’re at a big disadvantage without him. Because it seems pertinent, would you mind explaining how you got in to bomb the old bank in the first place? Interdimensional travel seems like a breeze compared to breaking through a wall of reinforced concrete.”

  “That was all Joe,” Myles said. “We always knew he had his resources. I suppose it made sense to keep his different forces secret from each other. He rounded up a militia, snuck us into the bank, set the explosive devices, and got everyone out before all hell broke loose. We were just there to secure the gate between dimensions. Any time we asked about how he did things, he’d brush off the question with the single word: ‘compartmentalization.’”

  Sere put her hand on Bart’s arm, remembering how it felt as they lay naked together only a few hours before. “You wouldn’t happen to have a secret militia hidden somewhere, would you?” Other than the one in your pants, she nearly said out loud.

  He smiled down at her, indicating that he’d caught her look of lust. “Sorry. Ex-special-forces guys like Joe are more legend than fact. Even those of us who value our service maintain a break between civilian life and being out on patrol.”

  Fisher pushed his half-empty glass aside. “Give me a day or two, and remind me to send a bouquet of flowers to my wife. Looks like I won’t be home tonight.”

  “You’d better send a second bouquet to Linda,” Sere said. “She’s a little pissed that neither of us has reported to work on a regular basis. And what exactly would you know about planning a bank heist? I thought you were completely legit.” Though Fisher had pulled off some impressive feats of financial legerdemain in the past, Sere couldn’t imagine how studying receipts was going to get them into the most secure room in New Orleans, and they really didn’t have time to waste.

  “I am,” he said. “That’s why people hire me, including those who skate a little too close to the legal edge. No one wants to go to prison for tax evasion. It’s just not a sexy crime. But calling up one of my more nefarious clients won’t be my starting point. As a rich person, Marjory Laroque is as paranoid as they come. In fact, I’d bet a part of her was happy the old bank got bombed. It gave her the opportunity to build something far more secretive.”

  Bart nodded. “From my experience, highly classified installations never use just one architect. It’s kind of like Joe’s explanation of compartmentalizing his assets. The less any one person knows, the less they’re a threat of spilling the beans. Most of them probably didn’t even know what they were working on.”

  “She wouldn’t have used the bank’s money for the build,” Fisher said. “That would only point fingers at whichever contractors she hired. I’ll have to do some digging to discover how she arranged payments, but people are creatures of habit. If I trace back the accounts she used to fund the latest batch of demons, I might find the hidden sources of cash she tapped to fund the bank build. Once I find out who she hired and when she paid them, I know of someone who might be able to reverse engineer the construction.”

  “I’m still not getting it,” Sere said. “A contractor is a contractor. Unless you intend to strong-arm them into divulging what they did or break into their offices to steal their plans, how is knowing who poured the concrete going to help us?”

  Fisher smiled at her and winked. “This is why you have me as your superhero sidekick. Everyone in New Orleans s
pecializes. One concrete-pouring company might be good at laying up two-foot-wide walls and curing them so they don’t crack during settling, while another might be better at constructing forms for secret passages. Once I combine that information with architects who similarly specialize, cost of materials—which will indicate how much concrete was used—and the timing of payments, I’ll have enough data to take to my source.”

  “But knowing what Mrs. Laroque might have built isn’t going to get us into that building,” Bart said. “We’re going to need specifics.”

  “That’s where my source comes into play,” Fisher said. “As Sere indicated, breaking into offices to steal plans would only tip our hand. Most construction firms, however, don’t spend a lot of time vetting their day laborers. A contractor’s disposable employee to my source is like a discarded invoice to me.”

  “I worked construction one summer,” Myles said. “Workers like the ones you describe are impossible to find once the job’s complete. To use your metaphor, it’d be like searching for a faded cash-register receipt under twenty years of garbage.”

  “That anonymity is what contractors count on,” Fisher said. “And uncovering the connections is where my source excels.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask,” Bart said, “but what does your source specialize in?”

  Fisher smiled. “I only do the man’s taxes.”

  Sere took Bart’s empty glass and turned it over on top of her smaller glass. “So for the time being, our adversary will be toiling away in the lab while Fisher figures out their layout.” She nodded at Bart’s pants pocket. “Show them what you showed me…” She hastily added, “In Fisher’s offices.”

  He pulled out the hollow-point bullet and the spent shell then made his explanation of how he could infect whoever Marjory created with the paranormal pellet. Before returning the slugs to his pocket, he gave her a quick smile that spoke directly to her lusts.