Cajun Gothic (Blood Haven)

by Rawlyns, Nya

  Trina seemed content to follow two steps behind Rinj, the distance so exact she might have been psychically bonded. Or specifically tutored. Once more, questions about Trina’s upbringing and training niggled at the back of Magda’s mind.

  For Magda, it was fear, pure and simple, that made her keep her distance.

  The man was a study in chilling menace, decked out in samurai glory, the sword almost as long as he was tall.

  The limo waited in the alley behind the house, motor running. Two black SUVs, fore and aft, bracketed the space. The sun had dipped below the houseline opposite, affording them some shade. Catrina was at greatest risk, being the youngest, but Samuels and Rinj were old enough, strong enough, to withstand limited exposure.

  Rinj placed a foil survival blanket about Catrina’s shoulders, the plasticized Mylar coating sufficient protection for the short run from the house to the vehicle. Magda donned her homeless cape, much to Samuel’s amusement, and trotted quickly to the vehicle. A human female held the door as they dove inside and settled on the bench seats.

  Samuels looked around and nodded to the half-dozen or so mercs already occupying strategic positions within the transport. A stack of weapons sat forward, just behind the driver and his compatriot riding shotgun, the woman.

  She spoke first. “Welcome, gentlemen, ladies. I’m Captain Reese, your driver is Lance Corporal Walkens.” She rattled off the names of the men impassively staring into space. Each nodded when his name was called but avoided direct eye contact with the vamps lining the opposite side of the vehicle. Six mercs, plus the driver and the woman who appeared to be in charge.

  Samuels grinned and said, “Nice to see you again, Lacey. Have you recovered…?”

  The woman blushed and rushed to say, “Yes sir, fully… sir.” If her men were in any way curious about the exchange they gave no indication. Reese gathered her wits and pointed to the pile of weapons on the floor of the limo. “Not as much ordnance as I’d like but it was the best we could do on such short notice.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine, Captain.” Samuels looked at the line of vamps lounging with casual ease along the left side of the limo. They looked like four rejects from the 3 ‘n’ G street gang wreaking havoc in the anarchy that’d become the legacy of the poorest districts in the Big Easy.

  Magda knew them to be an elite fighting unit, one of the deadliest urban strike forces anywhere outside of Samuels’ home base in the Big Apple. That Samuels had called in both groups spoke to his determination to squash the insurrection in their ranks once and for all. The last thing they could afford was to have Damien go on sabbatical, even though it was at Samuels’ bidding, leaving the Trinity group free to undermine everything they’d accomplished.

  There was far more than assets involved. Trinity threatened the entire Gotham Council organization and the rule of law that functioned to restrain and protect the interests of their species.

  Damien might have been young and self-indulgent, but he, more than anyone, bought into the philosophy of separate and more than just equal. It was the sole reason they’d endured their prolonged exile with only the occasional breach of manners for which he’d become notorious.

  “So, my dear,” Samuels fingered the cape resting on Magda’s broad shoulders, “this is quite the fashion statement. May I ask where you acquired such a… useful garment?”

  Magda flinched, desperately wishing to move out of Samuels’ reach but there was nowhere to go. They were jammed, cheek-to-jowl, in a transport designed for maximum carrying capacity rather than comfort.

  “Some kid from up north, a design student, I guess… she made this up for homeless people.” She shrugged. “Catrina found it on the internet, thought it was cool. Kinda like wearing a sleeping bag but it’s that Mylar shit and it works okay for daywear.”

  Samuels snickered and looked around Magda to Catrina. The girl and Rinj were in deep conversation, the mix and mingling of accents making for an alphabet soup vibe to the discussion. He might have feigned disinterest in Trina, but Magda knew the young woman had his undivided attention.

  Rinj withdrew his sword with some difficulty, the cluttered space and packed bodies cringing in unison as the blade skimmed through the air.

  Samuels muttered, “Watch it,” but Rinj ignored the warning and flicked his wrist counter-clockwise causing the steel to vibrate like a living thing.

  Both the mercs and the vamps looked on with interest as Rinj explained the tempering process.

  “Do you see the grain, how it undulates?” Those closest to the blade peered intently at the length of steel and nodded. “It is tempered and quenched in clay during the forging, very unique. He ran a thumb along the razor sharp edge. “It will never go away, this marking, it’ll just become more distinctive over time.” He smiled at Catrina and said with a smirk, “Like a good woman.”

  One of the mercs asked, “Is the tsuka traditional…”

  “Ah, yes, you have a good eye. This is samegawa,” he paused for a second, searching for the right words to explain the term, “…a special black rope with a traditional twist. You see… here, and here, my family… uh, what is the word?”

  Catrina offered, “Crest?” and Rinj smiled broadly as if his most promising student had performed exceptionally well at a difficult task.

  He nodded and continued, “Yes, crest, thank you, my dear.”

  She’s not yours, asshole, never will be…

  Samuels pinched Magda’s thigh hard enough to make her yelp, a warning to watch her thoughts, though the man swallowed visibly, like he was suppressing a chuckle.

  Reese, from the front of the vehicle asked, “What’s the plan, sir?”

  Samuels inclined his head to the vamp sitting at the near end. “If you please, Javier.”

  Magda listened with interest as Javier explained how they’d used satellite reconnaissance to track splinter group movements, a task made particularly difficult because Mardi Gras was in full swing. Despite the insurgents’ best efforts to randomize their meeting places, there were only so many available locations within the city limits that afforded the kind of protection and isolation vampires required. Damien’s people, under Samuels’ supervision, had narrowed the choices down to four, two near the Garden district, one in Metairie and the other one out by the Chalmette Battlefield and National Cemetery.

  One of Reese’s people offered that the Chalmette site was too far from major egress points, to which all agreed. Metairie was close to Interstate 10 and the Louis Armstrong International Airport, as well as the tourist friendly Metairie Cemetery with its over-the-top architectural extravagance. The one in the Garden district closest to Damien’s residence was deemed far too obvious, but one of the SUVs would be dispatched to observe the location for any unusual activity. The other SUV would stand watch at the old warehouse off the Pontchartrain Expressway.

  Catrina shyly apologized once more, eyes downcast, lips pinched. She had tried several times to trace Gab through articles of clothing and bric-a-brac from the man’s quarters but nothing popped.

  “It’s fine, my dear,” Rinj patted her thigh, a fatherly gesture and meant to comfort, though the subtext and tone of voice hinted at possessiveness. “You did your best.”

  Clearly Trina didn’t agree but Magda wasn’t going to fault the girl. All abilities had limits and what that told them was that Gab probably wasn’t in the Garden district, leaving them to concentrate resources in the more distant locations.

  No one was enthusiastic with mindlessly driving about the city streets in the early evening hours dodging Mardi Gras revelers but until the phone call came in, they had little recourse.

  Whatever the outcome, Gabriel was as good as dead.

  Magda fidgeted. Something was off, she could feel it. Most of the Trinity group members were young bucks looking to score coups and make names for themselves. Not a one originated from any of the old families, nor were they steeped in the ancient culture of the city, her beauty, her juju or her legends. The
y were all about swagger and the vamp equivalent of testosterone—no more, no less than the street gangs making the Big Easy one of the most violent cities in the country.

  The Captain stared at Magda for a long moment, then said, “Ma’am?”

  Samuels jerked out of whatever reverie he’d been in. He turned and said, “Pet, is there something wrong?”

  She had everyone’s attention. She wasn’t a betting person but she’d lay odds that her gut was right.

  “It doesn’t make sense, any of these locations,” she waved a hand dismissively, “not with Mardi Gras in full swing.”

  “Go on.” Samuels had twisted in his seat, eyes boring into hers.

  “We can barely make headway against traffic and the crowds. So if they need to make a getaway, they’re going to be in the same boat.”

  “Unless they can fly.” That from one of the mercs seated near Reese.

  Rinj chuckled. “As much as I would love to list that little skill set on my resume, I have to disappoint you.” He mumbled something to Catrina then said, “Tell us, Magda.”

  She rubbed a palm across her eyes, envisioning a mental map of the city.

  “We have two problems. One is that this is going to be too easy.” She ignored the snorts of derision and continued, “They pull all of our best fighters, leaving the one they damn near skewered like shrimp on the Barbie virtually unprotected.”

  Rinj interrupted with, “And they know this how?”

  Samuels hissed, “We aren’t the only ones with human collaborators, Rinj.” A chorus of ‘shits’ and ‘fucks’ echoed in the vehicle. “Exactly. The house was, is, under surveillance. They’ll know who left, who stayed. Within reason.”

  When Samuels told the captain, “You know what to do,” she spoke into a communit, instructing both SUVs to peel off and return to the Garden District and Damien’s house, making best speed.

  Javier swore, then said, “We’re almost forty minutes out. It might be too late.”

  Magda gave it a moment’s consideration but shook her head no. “The call hasn’t come in yet.” She checked her watch to confirm the time. “Sunset’s still twenty minutes or so away. They’re all young and vulnerable. They have to wait. That’s our edge. We’re already on route.”

  One of the mercs asked, “But on route to where?”

  “Does anyone have a map of the city?” Reese reached into the glove compartment and extracted a handful of trifolds, handing them back to Magda. She pawed through the stack, finding the one she needed and spread it out across her and Samuels’ laps.

  The group craned their necks trying to see where her finger traced a path.

  “It’s got to be south, below Chalmette. There’s a channel that connects with the Dupre and Bashman Bayous.” She tapped a forefinger on a section devoid of roads and structures. “Take route 39… that’s the East Judge Perez Drive.”

  Reese said, “Entering,” and tapped on the GPS unit.

  Samuels asked, “So where does that take them? There’s only a couple of road— Oh, I see.”

  Javier elaborated, “They’ll have a boat, probably more than one, mostly likely high speed, shallow draft.” Everyone nodded agreement although one of the mercs asked about air boats.

  That thought had occurred to Magda but she dismissed it. “You can disappear in places like Mosquito Bayou but I really doubt those boys know enough about that area. And I’m guessing gator rastling’s not on the to-do list for this operation.” Ignoring the laughter, she ran her finger along the canal to a short inlet accessing Lake Borgne. “They go out here and then it’s a straight shot to Pass Christian, Gulfport or even Biloxi.”

  Reese spoke up, “Hi-Land’s got direct access to water and a couple of churches with cemeteries, one or two small warehouses. Might do.”

  Samuels mulled over their options, then instructed Reese to ‘turn this boat around and haul ass.’ To Magda he gave an admiring glance, his palm resting on her thigh, the fingers kneading her flesh under cover of the map. She squirmed but that only encouraged him to slide his hand further up, nearly touching the hem of the leather shorts that sat within a hair’s breadth of impropriety.

  Clothes impeded her movement when she fought, so she went minimalist and had some scars to prove it. But with Samuels going touchy-feely on her skin, she might have to consider adding a chastity belt to the ensemble. The man left no doubt he was interested in what she had to offer, though which skill set he had in mind was up for debate.

  The prospects of having to fend him off on a daily basis made their relocation to his city less inviting by the minute. She imagined squeezing his balls until they popped like balloons, not bothering to mask her thoughts.

  Rinj gave a small sigh of pleasure, his mouth in an ‘O’ of ecstasy.

  Fuck.

  Samuels snorted, “Later, Pet. Your cell is buzzing.” To the others he said, “People, I believe it’s game time.”

  Magda carefully blocked everything out, too aware that Samuels and Rinj would take her to the woodshed for denying them access, but in combat it was the only way she could function. And she had no doubt that hostilities had commenced with the first buzz at her hip.

  She flipped the cell open and barked, “Tell me.” Listening carefully, she nodded as the caller relayed instructions, then said, “Got it. If you hurt him…” The call ended and she looked down at the map.

  “Pet?” Samuels looked both annoyed and concerned at the same time.

  The sounds of traffic and human chatter, the white noise of a city waking up, the shallow breathing of men preparing for battle… all receded until a black hole of silence bubbled around her in anticipation.

  Magda looked down the line of warriors, acknowledging each in turn, then said, “Good news and bad news.” Smiling wryly, she confirmed, “We were right about the location.”

  Catrina tensed next to her as Rinj asked the question, “And the bad news?”

  “They’ve got Damien.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kill Zone

  “Are you sure, Pet?”

  “Yes.”

  Damien’s screams still echoed in her head, long drawn-out waves of agony. Even with the overload of morphine, a drug only excreted through urine, thus impossible to blow off without massive injections of her blood as countermeasures, he suffered. Terribly.

  Catrina trembled next to her. She felt it also. Why the others could not was no mystery. They weren’t his children. She and the girl were linked in ways none of the others could understand.

  Except for Samuels. He knew. Because he was the same as Damien, possessing similar weird DNA, an unlikely accident of breeding and bloodlines. But it would be once removed, not nearly so up close and personal.

  For Magda it was bad enough but Catrina… Whatever juju the girl carried, it magnified, amplified, crushed and controlled her. Magda sensed the agony cascading through the child-woman, as did Rinj. The man clasped the girl’s hand in a bone-crushing grip, willing strength and calm into a psyche ready to implode under the assault.

  Somewhere in her brain it registered that weapons passed from hand-to-hand, bodies shifted, bones creaked, snapping into alignment, lungs drew in ragged breaths, Vibram soles scuffed the close pile weave on the floor.

  Reese motioned to her field commander to pass the extra clips. Javier asked if they were hollow point, someone responded with a ‘hell, yeah.’ The vamps smirked and looked back at Samuels.

  Even with young vamps, standard issue ordnance would only annoy them, though with luck it might slow them down, but the real job would fall to the four vamps sitting like stone statues to Samuels’ left.

  Reese passed the baton to Magda and instructed her men to follow her lead. As one they turned and respectfully gave her their full attention.

  Magda sat up straight, shouldering Samuels aside, filling the space with authority and purpose. She looked at each man, taking his measure, weighing faults, looking for any weak links. The air hung heavy with anticipation, and
an undercurrent of assurance. They’d been tested in the deserts of the ‘Stans and the desolation of East Africa.

  They were the best that money could buy… and they would kill anyone just for saying that.

  Satisfied with what she saw, Magda kept her observations short and sweet, avoiding speculation.

  “They will have direct access to water. We won’t know how best to deploy until we get closer and determine the exact location. I can guarantee we will not have tactical advantage.”

  One of the humans asked, “Ma’am, how will you be able to determine…?”

  “Not me,” she pointed to Catrina, “…her.”

  Trina was in lockdown, multitasking, using Rinj’s power to amplify her homing abilities, the blood link growing more powerful as they approached the target.

  The driver made a left turn off route 39 and drove for a short distance, lights off, using the ambient illumination from the small cottages lining both sides of the street to help him negotiate the narrow clearance. After glancing several times in the rear view mirrors, he muttered something to Reese.

  Samuels asked, “What is it, Captain?”

  “They’ve got outliers, a truck on the street, a car in a driveway, both with eyes.”

  Rinj snorted, “You’re driving the Queen Mary down a backwater road to nowhere and you didn’t expect somebody’d notice?”

  Magda ignored the remark and lunged to the front of the vehicle, shoving past the booted feet and weapons tripping her up. She wriggled between the front seats and twisted the GPS display so she could see it better. Reese asked, "Magnify?” but didn’t wait for a reply. She tapped on the screen, zeroing in on the neighborhood to the east of the main highway.

  Magda said, “Whoa, stop there. Do you see that?” Samuels asked ‘what’ but everyone ignored him and strained to see what held both Reese’s and the warrior woman’s interest.

  Reese mumbled, “Yeah, uh, wait a min…” She fiddled with the gain and grunted her assent. To the driver, she said, “Dan, turn right on the next street. And slow to a crawl. We need to think this through.”