by G A Chase
With the emotional chess game on hold, he turned his attention to pushing at the edges of his reality. He almost felt bad about staring downriver, but Sanguine had her game, and he had his. Until she showed up in the flesh as the winged angel, she was keeping secrets from him—and not just about her true identity. If she wasn’t going to provide answers about his situation, he had a right to find them on his own.
He picked up the drawing of his children. Fleurentine had a way of accentuating their eyes to make them look as if they were begging for something. The effect left him cold. He dropped the picture back onto the table. It landed next to the plastic guitar pick as if the two were magnetically connected.
The worker’s uniform of jeans and a heavy cotton shirt grated against his skin, but for where he was headed, he would have stuck out like a ship owner in his usual business attire. Jogging down the stairs to the street added a layer of sweat to the clothing. Though he doubted he could hide from Sanguine, her human puppets that filled his world could be easily fooled. If she wasn’t going to present her angelic self, he might as well capitalize on her lackeys’ stupidity.
He felt out of place walking through the well-manicured park along the river. Families and couples were enjoying the breeze off the river and discussing their next culinary adventure. He tried to tune them out. Once the smooth concrete path switched to the well-worn wooden dock, his clothing helped him blend in with the longshoremen.
He pulled his collar up around his neck and hurried along the gated-off shipyards. I should have brought a pack of cigarettes to complete the look and use as bribes. Though talking to one of the workers could too easily expose me.
When the wharf’s wooden boards no longer looked strong enough to support the trucks and forklifts that plied the area, he moved inland. He had walked the same path back to his condo, but that had been at night, and he’d been soaking wet and exhausted. In the light of day, he struggled to remember the landmarks back to the small calm section of river.
He stopped at an abandoned parking lot with a No Trespassing sign hooked to the chain across the entrance. During his night’s stealth maneuvers, he’d avoided the roads. He still nursed splinters from sneaking along the wharf that had half fallen into the water.
Caution dictated that he keep moving past his destination. A direct approach with the dockworkers so close could tip someone off about his treasure. He kept walking along the gravel path until it turned to a weeded lot that occupied the corner between the Industrial Canal and the Mississippi River. A small grove of stick-figure trees stuck out of the murky water.
He skirted down the embankment to the dead tree trunks. With a quick look around, he convinced himself that he was unseen. In spite of the October chill, it was a relief to pull off the denim jeans and flannel shirt. In only his swimsuit, he carefully folded up his clothing and stashed it under a stone of the levee.
The cold water made his muscles tense. Without the oxygen tanks, he wouldn’t have the time underwater that he’d had when he’d moved the vault, but at least this time he knew where it was. The heavy ship rope was still tied to the submerged twisted rebar of the busted-up dock. He dove under the concrete overhang and traced the rope until his hand struck the metal vault. With a firm tug, he confirmed it was still floating free of the muddy river bottom.
Earlier in the day, he’d studied the river’s topography and history. For hundreds of years, the tight bend had been notorious for shipwrecks. Though most had been cleared, wrecks outside of the shipping channel had a way of lying half-submerged until some developer found a use for that section of riverbank.
He worked out from the concrete ledge and stared past the Industrial Canal. At high tide, the trees that grew along the edge of the Ninth Ward obscured the riverbank. He searched for the opposite corner and tried to estimate one hundred yards downriver. Three times, he conducted his visual inspection before he caught sight of a pinpoint reflection of light off the broken wheelhouse window. The old luxury craft had run aground half a century earlier. That’s a long way to drag a safe.
He swam back to shore and fabricated three stick boats from the debris of the dead trees. In the calm water, it was an easy swim with them back to the vault. The first boat he aimed at the shore and shoved far enough out to be caught by the ripples along the river’s edge. The next he guided straight to his destination, and the third he flung far enough out to be whipped around by the strength of the river.
He watched the three stick boats and tried to extrapolate how he would deal with the challenges they encountered. When the bundle of twigs that braved the open river broke open and scattered across the surface, he focused his attention on staying as close to the riverbank as possible. None of his experiments survived the trip across the convoluted mixture of currents that occupied the conflux of the two waterways, but a handful of sticks did get lodged among the trees on the other side. Good enough.
As with the wharf under Spanish Plaza, he found all manner of junk lodged tightly under the cement overhang beyond the vault. He chose a hand winch and a paddle that had been snapped in half as the most useful objects. Hopefully, I’ll do better than the poor sod who thought he could raft down the Mississippi like a modern-day Huck Finn.
Overthinking a problem had a way of creating data paralysis. He put aside thoughts of drowning while strapped to the vault, untied the rope, and yanked the three-quarters-submerged iron closet out into the river.
Lying on top of the bobbing metal box while it tipped and lurched its way downriver made Colin feel like some fool trying to sneak his pirate chest out of Davy Jones’s locker. Even with the paddle, he was completely at the mercy of the unpredictable river. Waves splashed across the surface of the vault, making it hard for him to hang on and impossible to see where he was going. Staying alive and in possession of the vault took all of his energy.
He only knew he’d reached the far side of the Industrial Canal when the vault hit a submerged log, causing him to slide off the top. Though the river’s edge was not shallow, he was able to put his feet into the slippery mud and tug on the rope. With more willpower than strength, he coaxed his prize toward the silt-covered beach.
Once ashore, all he wanted to do was collapse on the grass and pass out, but there was still too much to do and not much time. Whatever girlish activity Sanguine had chosen for her after-sex deliberation wouldn’t take all day. Women only needed hours to consider their first mistake. After that, the self-loathing of cheap sex passed much faster.
A twang of pain struck him. My time with Sanguine hasn’t been some tawdry one-night stand. He pulled harder on the rope to quiet his foolishness.
The River Duchess had plowed so deeply into the soft river bottom that only the wheelhouse and cabin remained above the waterline. The foredeck, however, was merely awash with water. Colin walked along the waterlogged teak surface while the vault banged at the boat’s bow. The river that had threatened to end his life lapped like a puppy at his ankles. This will do. He tied the rope to the winch and hooked it to the wheelhouse hatch. It took a good half hour of ratcheting the winch to hoist the metal box over the railing. He kept pulling until he had the ungainly addition to the boat safely inside the cabin.
He fell into the captain’s chair, so out of breath he feared he was having a heart attack. Across the inlet, dockworkers were carrying on as if nothing had happened. Boats continued to ply the river. He’d succeeded undetected.
Since when do you sit back and enjoy a victory before you’re done? He wrestled his way out of the beat-up wooden chair and turned his attention to the vault. Communication cables that had been ripped out of their connections hung limply from the top. The iron hatch had been sealed shut. The emergency wheel turned freely but to no avail. He yanked the main handle across the width of the door, but nothing released inside the walls. Damn it. There must be an override on this thing somewhere.
Nothing along the walls indicated that there was magical button he’d somehow missed. He inspected the
wires. If I were designing this thing, I’d use a computer connection to tell the vault it was safe to open, but Luther has an aversion to advanced technology.
He looked closer at the damaged square plastic box with protruding electrodes at the end of the cable. Clever. Those aren’t connections—they’re sensors. As the fail-safe required a blood sacrifice, I’ll bet this works the same way. DNA would be even more secure than a fingerprint.
Colin wondered if the box would open for the descendent of the artifacts’ original owner—if not the man himself—or if Luther had arranged for the box to open only for him. “Just in case Luther built some microphone into you, I’m Colin Malveaux, resurrected spirit of Baron Malveaux—the rightful owner of your secrets. I’m also hell’s devil, and this is my realm.” The last comment was a bluff, but Colin would take any advantage he could get.
Finding a bleeding wound wasn’t a challenge. He dripped blood into the box from a gash on his forearm until the sensors in the small plastic box were completely covered.
A bang so loud it shook the deck echoed from inside the chamber. The door swung open just enough to let Colin know he’d succeeded. Now the real work begins.
He walked into the vault and pulled the door closed behind him. A green light lit up the confining space. This thing must have some form of emergency power. Good. The shelves were filled with boxes of his old possessions that had been secured in place, but he only opened the one containing his smoking paraphernalia. The pipe tool still had blood on it from its latest victim.
“You have proven to be quite the little troublemaker.” He stashed the tool in his pocket as his connection to the other cursed objects in the vault.
But it wasn’t simply having his things back that made his heart race. Those items were merely part of the plan—the magical line that connected him to the golden guitar pick lure. Now all he had to do was wait for the fish.
* * *
“I need to check in with Sanguine.” Kendell didn’t really want to leave the apartment, but Sanguine would need to have grounding conversations with a friend now that she was playing her dangerous game of seduction.
Myles set Doughnut Hole on the ottoman. “I’ll go with you. We can pick up dinner on the way home.”
“I thought you hated Delphine’s shop.”
“I do, but I could use a little more information about that cane Papa Ghede left me. If anyone would have some kind of instruction manual, it would be Delphine.”
Kendell held his hand. “It’ll be nice to know you’re in the next room. Just try not to piss her off. We still need her shop as the seventh gate.”
“You don’t need to remind me.”
As they walked through the Quarter, Kendell smiled to see the Halloween decorations. “I wish Sanguine would make it home in time for Krewe of Boo. She wouldn’t even have to hide her wings.”
“With every report from her, I feel like she’s slipping farther away. Do you think she intends on honoring her six-month time limit?”
In spite of Sanguine’s assurances that she would return home, Kendell feared the girl would be unable to control her emotional connection to Colin. Love had a strange way of spinning people onto foreseen destinies. “I’ll subtly remind her. As much as I want her home, these last few months with you and no paranormal interference have been all I ever dreamed they’d be.”
He let go of her hand to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close. “I expect some magical piano to fall out of the sky at any minute to shake up our world again, so I’ll take every minute of this normal life that I can get. Still, I’d go back to shouldering our part of saving the world if it meant having Sanguine home again.”
“I hate feeling so useless. It’s like I’m an injured volleyball player sitting on the bench, kibitzing each play. Sanguine doesn’t need my meddling, but I don’t know what else to do.”
He kept an arm around her as they resumed their walk. “She knows we’re here for her. Sometimes that’s the best you can do for someone who’s in danger. You rushing into hell would only add one more stress for her.”
She couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that Sanguine was growing too attached to Colin and needed a friend to help her see things straight. “At least I don’t think she slept with him last night. I keep fearing she’s going to go into details about their nights of passion.”
Myles opened the door to Scratch and Sniff for her. “If she does, do me a favor and keep that conversation to yourself.”
She left him in the front room of the establishment to consult with Delphine. Even though Kendell spent a great deal of time in the side room, staring at the voodoo totem in hell’s realm, the connection never got any easier.
The sight of Sanguine sitting opposite her made the journey worthwhile. Sanguine’s angelic smile, however, lasted for only a moment. Kendell’s vision went hazy as she saw Sanguine reach toward her. The woman’s scream faded as if a volume knob on the connection had been turned off.
The chair under Kendell dissipated, causing her to fall backward and land hard against a metal floor. Blackness covered her sight as if a blanket had been thrown over her head. She managed to bolt to her feet, but her senses weren’t fully registering.
She wondered if she’d fallen into a dream state. “Where the hell am I?” The cold metal walls made her wrap her arms around her stomach.
“Give it a minute. Transitioning realms that abruptly can be disorienting.”
She instantly recognized Colin’s voice.
“What have you done?”
“I snagged your spirit out of the psychic communication you were having with Sanguine.” His smug satisfaction caused her to ball her fists.
Her eyes began to clear. The metal closet she was in was lined with shelves and the same boxes she’d seen in Luther’s office. She’d have to watch what she said in order to back whatever play Sanguine had going. “How?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pipe tool that had started her adventure into the world of voodoo curses. “Simple really. You deposited your connection to the curse in the voodoo golden guitar pick. Everything you see around you, like this silly little pipe tool, represents my side of the curse. Luther’s isolation box creates its own dimension, and my soul worked like the fly reel to pull you in.”
But what dimension do you think is outside this box? Even asking the question, though, might hint that he wasn’t back among the living. “Why?”
“Are we really going to go down the list of obvious questions? I want my cane back. Your boyfriend has it. I’m going to trade your spirit for my walking stick.”
Her head began to clear. “So this isn’t about continuing our conversation?”
“As much as I’d like to lie to you and say it was, this time I’m too busy for a chitchat. Right now, I suspect Sanguine is yelling her head off about you going into a mystical trance. Delphine and your boyfriend will be freaking out. I could leave you here in my little trap and wander down to Delphine’s shop, but I’m not sure what I’d find.”
He suspects, but he doesn’t know. “What do you mean?”
“Presumably, I’d see you lying in repose amid a flurry of activity. Being the natural suspect, I’d be immediately incarcerated in some fashion—probably in another one of Delphine’s little statues. That wouldn’t be an ideal situation for either of us as every minute they spend attacking me is a minute you’ll be stuck in my dungeon.”
She tried to remain calm. “I assume you have an alternative plan.”
“I want to deal directly with Sanguine. She can be our intermediator.”
So that’s what you’re up to. You want to draw her into the open. “What makes you think she would help you?”
“If it was simply up to her, I don’t expect she would. But she’ll work with the living and the damned to free you.”
The room felt uncomfortably small with Colin standing in front of the closed hatch. “I can’t do much stuck in your prison.”
“I
don’t need you to do anything other than stay in this box,” he said.
“How do you even know about our conversations? Have you been eavesdropping on us like some pervert?”
He motioned to all of the treasure chests stacked on the shelves. “I only came by this magic box recently. Like a hunter hiding in his blind, I had no idea how long I’d have to sit here until you accessed that voodoo totem.” He held up the pipe tool. “I’ve been carrying this around as my little beeper should you power up the totem. Mind telling me why you had to use it to talk to your friend? She wouldn’t happen to be trapped in another dimension again, would she?”
Kendell leaned back against the wall and folded her arms across her stomach. “If you want us to put our cards on the table, you start.”
“Very well. I suppose these opening gambits have gone on long enough. Over the last few weeks, I’ve worked through a number of scenarios, ranging from me having returned to life to me being stuck in a virtual-reality totem. The most likely answer is that I’m still in that swamp witch’s hell. Though how you two managed to make it look so much like life is a mystery. I know I’ve talked with you in this realm, but there are times you didn’t seem quite real. Sanguine has been the bigger mystery. It’s as if she can possess anyone she likes in order to play her games on me. Other than you two, I can’t say for sure if I’ve met another real person. Most of the people I’ve interacted with are surprisingly two-dimensional. I might have run across Myles, but he’s so shallow anyway that I wouldn’t have noticed the difference.”
She really wanted to punch him, but as her jailor, he might not respond well. “So you think you’re in hell, but you’re not sure. Do you really think holding me hostage will result in your freedom?”