Thick or not, the dark still retreated from the light. As soon as Jacob walked into the next room, though, he wished it had shown some grit and stood its ground.
The room measured only about fifteen feet in length. In the right corner, directly across from them, sat crates neatly stacked nearly up to the ceiling. One of the crates at the base of the stack had been pried open. Straw packing hung over the top. Inside were two glass bottles almost identical to the ones on the table in the bunk area. The crate had enough space for two more.
A cell of some sort, constructed of thick glass and reinforced with metal bars running around it, had been built in the left corner of the room. An opening was cut into the glass, with a rubber sphincter of some sort installed as a seal. One of the dome-shaped bottles had been filled with swamp water and pushed through the seal. Flanking the bottle were two sets of rubber gloves so someone could reach inside the cell and manipulate objects.
Jacob stepped closer, lantern raised.
The afflicted inside lunged into the light and against the cell, rocking the framework at its foundation. Charlotte jumped back, shrieking. It pawed at the slick glass, its grey face smashed against the interior wall, its unseeing eyes lolling around like a dying calf’s. Nostrils flared. It sniffed for them.
Jacob heard the buzzing now.
Mosquitoes flew around the afflicted. Thousands of them swarmed around it in a thick cloud. The afflicted settled back down and began pacing again. The creature ignored the insects as they crawled over its unseeing eyes, into its slack mouth, and inside its nose.
Jacob approached the glass, peering closer at the afflicted. The creature didn’t slap at the bites. Mosquitoes stabbed their needled noses into its skin, filling themselves with its blood. And the curse.
Charlotte wretched. She groaned and gagged again. Jacob put his hand to the glass. The mosquitoes continued to buzz.
“Is that shard we found earlier,” Jacob asked, turning and looking at Charlotte, “from a bottle like these?”
Charlotte mumbled a reply. Jacob turned his head forward and watched the trapped afflicted. Its back to Jacob, it fell against the glass and slid to the ground in a heap. The afflicted tried to crawl upright. Charlotte spit on the ground.
“Yes,” Charlotte said, coughing. “Yes, I think it was.” She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.
“They must wait for there to be enough mosquitoes in each bottle,” Jacob said, taking a closer look at the rubber gloves set into the glass, “then use these gloves to cap it off.”
“He’s using the mosquitoes to spread the disease,” Charlotte said. “He’s using them like bombs.”
“They could throw them into buildings, or just leave them sitting open in back alleys. These jars could be anywhere in the city.”
“What do you think?” Charlotte asked.
“Go look through the rest of the bunkhouse.” Jacob said. “Gotta find something that tells us where he is. I’ll poke around here a bit. Holler if you hear something.”
Charlotte, her face paler than normal, gave a weak nod and went back into the main room.
Jacob turned and looked at the stack of crates in the corner. All were full of bottles except for the open one on the floor. But how many had they loaded with mosquitoes and already used throughout the city? And how many were still hidden or with the Kukluxers?
Jacob went back to the workbench near the door.
Clippings from the Crescent, Picayune, and Bee had been cut out and pinned to the wall over the bench. Jacob recognized one of them as the article he’d been reading before he and Christopher had headed to the Isabella. More than a dozen others were around it, each one dated sometime during the previous months. They detailed the calling of the Constitutional Convention by the governor, the fight between the mayor and federal forces, and President Johnson’s orders to not interfere. The board displayed the whole political saga in newsprint.
“Dammit,” Jacob muttered.
Charlotte came back in. “Jacob,” she said, “I believe I found something.”
Jacob followed her out into the bunkhouse and through the door on the left.
The room beyond was the same dimensions as the one with the caged afflicted. Someone had drawn a six-foot-diameter circle in dark ink on the floor. Within it was sketched a pentacle. Burned down stubs of candles were at each of the five points of the star. Some kind of foreign writing ringed the whole thing.
“It’s a summoning circle,” Charlotte said.
“How do you know for sure? They could’ve done all manners of things with this. Cast curses, done some scrying. Who knows?”
“I’m the head of OSW, that’s how. See these characters here?” she asked, walking around the edge and pointing down to a set of sigils. “Enochian keys. This?” She pointed to another set. “This is from the Clavis Salomonis, the Book of Solomon. They summoned demons with this circle.”
“Any clue what they summoned?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No,” she said, coming back over to stand by him, “but I think it has to do with the possessed nuns.” She crossed her arms. “And from the looks of some of these characters, its real focus is you and Christopher.”
“Right,” Jacob said, rubbing a hand down his face. “Dammit.”
“What do we do?”
“Burn it,” Jacob said, walking out of the room. “Burn the whole damn thing to the ground.”
They found a barrel of coal oil in the main room. Jacob tapped it and poured the contents over the bunks and boxes of cartridges. He saved a portion for the mosquito breeding room with its afflicted prisoner.
He ushered Charlotte out of the small warehouse when he’d finished. Fumes from the oil filled the air. The war had taught him those fumes could ignite with a simple spark. He stood in the office and scratched a lucifier into life. He watched it burn for a moment, wondering if any of this would be worth it.
Jacob threw the lit match into the main room.
Hot air blew past him as the room combusted in reds and yellows.
He stepped out into the alleyway. “We need to get moving,” he said as he shut the warehouse door behind him. “Those Gatling cartridges are gonna start firing off soon.”
They walked back to the wagon. Jacob helped Charlotte up into the shotgun seat. He looked at the warehouse. Smoke was coming out through the walls and ceiling. The rapid, uneven staccato of firing Gatling bullets began as Jacob climbed up and drove the wagon away.
Jacob and Charlotte marched up the stairs together. Christopher was leaned back on the rear legs of his chair, his feet kicked up on the railing. He rested his chin on his chest and had pulled his hat down low. He looked up as Jacob and Charlotte came around onto the landing.
“Took y’all long enough,” Christopher said. “What’s it like out there?”
“Dreadful,” Charlotte said.
“And about to get a mite worse,” Jacob said.
They led Christopher out onto the balcony and told him what all had happened in the last few hours. As they told their story, the sun and the plumes of smoke continued to rise over New Orleans. By the time they’d finished, the day had reached nearly noon. Jacob could tell the city was awake. Screams, gunshots, and bugle calls sounded in the distance.
Still, the police had yet to step up.
“Can you find Potestas?” Christopher asked.
“Nothing there had any resonance to him,” Charlotte said. “If I could find something important, then I might be able to. But without that, my sense won’t do us any good.” She bit her lip uncertainly.
“What?” Jacob asked her.
“Just something that’s worrying me.”
“And, that is?” Christopher asked.
“Well,” Charlotte said, teeth still grinding away on her lower lip. “It just feels like he purposely didn’t leave anything. Like he knew you had a sensitive with you.”
“Shit,” Christopher said.
“So,” Jacob said, looking from one
to the other, “it was an inside job.”
Charlotte and Christopher both nodded.
“What else do we have then?” Christopher asked.
“Well, the convention starts at noon tomorrow,” Jacob said. “From the newspapers’ talk, Baird ain’t gonna move to protect or stop them. He might, but he’s playing his cards close to his chest.”
“We need to warn them,” Charlotte said. “If we can stop the convention, then we can stop Potestas’s plan.”
“We also need to stop Potestas,” Jacob said. “Stopping the convention is part of his plan.”
“And there’s the nuns,” Christopher said. “Don’t get me wrong, I want the convention to continue. Likely, more so than either of you.”
“Potestas flanked us,” Charlotte said. “They’re a ruse to keep you two occupied, Mr. Freeman.”
“But we still need to save them,” Christopher said.
“Listen,” Charlotte said, throwing her arms in the air. “Have either of the priests been able to manifest the demons? We all know they’re strong enough to manifest, don’t we? Then why in the hell don’t they?”
“Back off,” Christopher said, leaning down into her face. “This is what we do. We’re Templars, not Pinkertons or the Union. We don’t protect cities and kill Kukluxers, alright? We free people from goddamn possession.” He wagged a finger in her face. “So, if you want to try and save the city, go right ahead. But doing that ain’t my orders. My orders are to free them nuns. They ain’t to go and follow my personal politics. Get me?”
“Woah there,” Jacob said as he, arms outstretched, forcibly inserted himself between the pair. “We don’t need this. Not now.”
“You’re right,” Christopher said, looking hard at Charlotte over Jacob’s shoulder, “we don’t.” The other Templar turned from Jacob and went inside, slamming the balcony door behind him. Jacob didn’t follow.
“Are you going to help me?” Charlotte asked Jacob’s back.
Jacob turned. “I don’t know,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” she asked, crossing her arms. She leaned forward, looking into Jacob’s eyes. “You don’t know, Jacob? You saw what Potestas has, and you saw how well the Union’s containing it.” Charlotte advanced on him, fiery eyes narrowed. “You know he’ll bring this city to its knees. What next? St. Louis? Chicago? He could have an entire army by this time next week, or even sooner. What then? Still going to worry about your damned nuns?”
Jacob, teeth clenched, exhaled sharply through his nose. Charlotte, sensing his rage, took a step back. Jacob took a deep breath like Hatsuto, the Buddhist Templar, had taught him. He kept his hand by his side and looked away, still breathing deep.
“I – I’m sorry,” Charlotte said.
“I’m sorry,” Jacob said. He took another breath. “You don’t need to be. We need your help. And I reckon you need ours just as much. Our orders say one thing, your orders say another cause you ain’t been sent new ones. I’ll try one more time to convince Christopher. He and I can go through the exorcism with the priests again. If we can’t shake these demons loose, then I’ll go with you. We’ll stop this, and we’ll stop it together. Deal?”
Charlotte kept her arms crossed. She looked at Jacob. She looked at the garden. She looked out at the city, with all its clouds of smoke and soot hanging in the air.
“Fine,” she said, turning back to Jacob and sticking out her hand. “Deal.”
They shook on it.
“I’m going to help her find Potestas when this is over,” Jacob said to Christopher as the older black man helped him don his armor in preparation for another rite of exorcism.
“I am too,” Christopher replied.
“No, you ain’t understanding me,” Jacob said, fixing his breastplate into place and tightening his leather straps. “Reckon what I mean to say is: Whether or not we get the demons to manifest in the next hour or so, I’m gonna help her.”
“That’s your choice,” Christopher said. “But I ain’t until we save them nuns.”
“I know.”
“So, you telling me you’re going to disobey the order to save this sorry city? Even after these people fought against us in the war?”
“Doing it because of the war. Remember what you told me when I came back to the monastery? After Mr. Bennett had passed?”
“Not really, no.”
“You said I may have been a boy in blue before, but I weren’t now.”
“Don’t recall saying that.”
“Well you did. So I’m going to help Charlotte try and save New Orleans.”
“Charlotte now, huh? Was Miss Gibson before. Told you before about them pretty faces, Jacob. Shouldn’t have sent you out with her.”
“Hand me my gunbelt.”
They waited on the landing as before. Fathers Jacques and Pierre processed from their staging area and into the banquet hall. Jacob and Christopher followed the two men. Charlotte trailed after. She’d kept her word.
The city already baked from the summer heat, but the priests still kept the windows shut tight. Light filtered in through the shutters. The nuns lay on their beds, their faces untarnished by sweat and devoid of marring. Some people couldn’t stand against the inhuman invasion of a demonic presence. Some people’s skin turned, their countenance broke and fell. These young women, though, they stood to the test. Jacob could feel that they went toe-to-toe with the creatures. They were putting in their twenty rounds, mayhaps more.
The fragrance of new incense piled atop old as the priests continued to the formal crucifix that still stood in the center. The fragrance of Jacob’s sweat mingled with the burning myrrh. It unsettled him.
Jacob thought he heard a mosquito for the briefest of moments, just a buzzing of wings breaking the New Orleans air. But, for all he knew, that noise came from the demons. They played tricks on your mind. They felt your fears, dug them up from the cold, dark places in your mind. They chewed them up and spat them back at you.
Father Jacques began his rounds. This time didn’t change from the first. The hissing, the wailing, the steam and smoke. The demons still wouldn’t speak.
Father Jacques walked over to Christopher, Jacob, and Charlotte. He simply sighed and shrugged. He shook his great, grey head. “I do not know anymore,” he said. He took a kerchief from his pocket and wiped it across his brow, sopping away the sweat. “These are not normal demons.”
Jacob and Christopher stood with crossed arms. Jacob looked to Christopher.
“Alright,” he said, “that’s it. Told you I was going after this go-round.”
Christopher pursed his lips.
Father Jacques looked from Jacob to Christopher, then back again to Jacob. “You are leaving?” he asked.
“Charlotte and I found the source of the afflicted, and we found the summoning circle for these creatures. We were right. They’re all tied together. We stop this bastard from destroying the city, we might just stop the demons possessing the nuns.”
“Jacques?” Father Cavey called from the center of the room.
“But, why did you not speaker sooner?” Father Jacques asked.
“Jacques?”
Jacob shrugged.
“Father,” Charlotte said, resting a hand on Father Jacques’s arm, “Jacob and I wanted to give you one last chance.”
“Jacques?” Father Cavey asked again, his voice raised.
“What, Pierre?” Father Jacques asked, spinning around.
Jacob, Christopher, and Charlotte all looked past Father Jacques at the nuns hovering in the center of the room. They were only floating a few yards above the ground, but Jacob had to admit that floating even a few inches impressed in its own way.
Father Cavey walked backwards towards the group from the center of the room, staring up at the seven sisters. They floated in a wedge, with one in the lead and three spreading out behind and to either side.
“Merde,” said Father Jacques.
Christopher walked up quickly and grabbed Father Cavey by the shoulders. The priest jumped.
“Everyone out,” Christopher said, pulling Father Cavey backwards and pushing him out the door. Father Jacques followed him.
“THE OTHERS,” the nuns said in unison, “MAY LEAVE.” They raised their right hand and pointed at the Templars. “FREEMAN AND SMITH, YOU MAY NOT.” Smoke began drifting out of the hems and sleeves of their gowns. Jacob watched as it curled down to the ground and spread out to the corners of the room, settling on the floor. Smoke poured from their luminescent eyes.
Christopher ushered the others out, saying, “Get out of the building and into the chapel.”
The priests went willingly.
“I want to stay,” Charlotte said.
“No,” Christopher said, shoving her out of the room with one hand and slamming the door closed with the other, “you just think you do.”
Christopher joined Jacob. The smoke began filling the room, rising to their waists now. “What’s the plan?” Jacob asked.
“Kill as many as we can.”
“Not much of a plan.”
“Guess not.”
Jacob drew his sword. The smoke obscured the other side of the room. Soon the beds would be hidden, too. Next, the nuns would be out of sight.
Jacob saw and felt movement near the center of the room. Hulking, hunched-over shapes shook the hardwood floor with each step. Jacob gripped his blade in both hands and brought the sword up to guard his chest. The smoke began to thin.
Seven demons in all stood across from the Templars.
“Well,” Christopher said. He licked his upper lip. “That’s something.”
Jacob sucked his top front teeth and said, “Yup. Sure is.”
Three were purplish, imp-like creatures about the size of small dogs. Their arms were thin and long, hanging past their knees. Bat-like wings with claws at the end sprouted from their backs, and scorpion-stringered tails grew from the base of their spines. If it weren’t for their shark-like rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, Jacob thought, they’d almost be cute. In a Hellish kind of way, of course.
The New Orleans Zombie Riot of 1866: And Other Jacob Smith Stories Page 18