Hell's Belle

by Karen Greco

  I held up my hand. "Stop it, okay. Let's just get through the next 24 hours without you or Frankie turning me into Bertrand's bitch. We can't afford distractions."

  He nodded curtly. My cell phone buzzed, breaking the uncomfortable silence between us. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and looked at it. A text from Babe. She and Dr. O were on their way over. We were hitting Marcello the next night. Apparently, my apartment was becoming the War Room.

  I looked at Max's pinched face and put my hand on his shoulder. "We go in less than 24 hours. Get ready because this is going to be like nothing you've seen before."

  CHAPTER 28

  Babe, Dr. O and Max sat around my kitchen table as the smell of fresh brewing coffee wafted through the loft. In a low voice, Babe (apparently the only person alive who could figure out Etrusian) was translating a Grimoire to Max, who was dutifully writing down every word. Dr. O mixed an herbal concoction, chanting quietly in some ancient Druidic tongue. Since I was more a doer than an incantor, I sharpened my blades. Dog was sprawled out on my bed snoring.

  Frankie had returned a few hours earlier, his cheeks flushed from feeding. He immediately retreated to a makeshift workshop he installed in his basement chamber. Near 4 AM, he gave a brief knock before letting himself into my apartment. He dropped an enormous crossbow in the center of the table, followed by a handful of wooden crossbow bolts.

  The weapon was extraordinary. It was a simple crossbow, but somehow in its design and construction, the bow became a work of art. I examined the carved details closer. Streamlined and of a light weight that belied its size, the bow felt slightly warm and alive in my hand.

  Dr. O stood over my shoulder, admiring the craftsmanship. "It's gorgeous."

  "How did you do this?" I marveled.

  Frankie grinned with pride. "Pretty good, right?"

  I handed the bow to Dr. O so I could get a closer look at the bolts. "Runes?" I squinted and pulled them closer.

  Dr. O took a bolt with his other hand and, closing his eyes, spun it between his thumb and forefinger. "Blackthorn tree, yes?"

  Frankie beamed. "Witches aren't the only ones who can work a bit of magic!"

  I took the crossbow back from Dr. O and looked through its site. It was calibrated perfectly.

  "This is awesome, Frankie," I marveled. "You are a master craftsman."

  His pale skin blushed a faint pink. "I know you'll take good care of them. They've been made to take care of you."

  I gave him a hug. "Thanks, Frankie."

  "Don't mention it." He squeezed me quickly before letting go. "Right, so now what?"

  "We go after Marcello," I fiddled with the crossbow, shifting it awkwardly around my body. It was super cool, but I had no idea how to carry it.

  "Do you have a plan?" Frankie quipped.

  "Find him and kill him, Genius," I shot back. Frankie's sarcasm was grating, so he deserved to have some snark tossed right back at him.

  "And how do you propose we find him? We're the ones watching the bodies pile up, remember?" Frankie crossed his arms, his long, lean frame lounging against the counter.

  "We have his witch," I said with a grin. Eva was holed up at Babe's, with Alfonso keeping an eye on her. When Babe left, Al was wearing a blue streak because Eva misread his Tarot cards. Babe was pretty certain Al would school her on proper Tarot technique while we were away.

  "No, you don't," Babe piped up, her voice stern. "Not for that. I promised her I'd cloak her and I did. But I won't risk exposing her. You are not going to use her for bait."

  "Come on, Babe," I moaned. "It'll just be for like a minute."

  Babe shook her head. "Forget it."

  "It's the most direct way to flush him out," Max offered.

  "Eva has no idea how to control her powers. Hell, she doesn't even know she has powers. There's no way she can protect herself." Babe pursed her lips, then continued. "By now, Marcello definitely knows she's been cloaked and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who's hiding her. If we expose her now, he'll kill her. So forget it. Come up with a Plan B."

  Plan B? Really? I knew she was right, but Eva was our only link to Marcello. I didn't want to see her dead either, but she was our best way in. Frankie was right in that we were always one step behind Marcello, getting there just in time to clean up the bodies. Hell, sometimes even the cops were getting there first.

  "I think I know how to find him," Frankie said with a pensive expression. "Or lure him out, anyway."

  Dr. O raised his eyebrows. "Go on."

  "I have to take Nina home," Frankie said quietly.

  "Home? I am home." Great. Now Frankie was making no sense.

  "No, Nina," Dr. O smiled gently. "He means home, where you lived with your parents, before--"

  "Before they died?" I finished his sentence. "And that brings him out...how?"

  "He killed them there," Frankie explained. "Not in the house, but the barn.

  "Barn?" I lived in the country?

  "Yes, your mother and I had a connection to the land there," Babe offered. "It was Native land."

  "But we're not native here. We're native to Mexico."

  Babe just shrugged. "Somewhere in our bloodline, we have a connection to this place. No idea why. One day, maybe we'll learn. Until then, I just go with it."

  "Do all witches share this blind faith thing you have going on?" I just didn’t buy this "connection to the land" business, not to mention it was the fastest way to end up dead. If I followed these ugga bugga feelings blindly, I'd be twice dead, true dead. Freaking witches.

  I turned to Frankie. "So where is this place?"

  "Chepachet," he responded. "It's a lovely old farmhouse."

  "And how do we get access to this lovely old farmhouse?" Why was I suddenly the only practical one?

  "You have the key." Frankie grinned slightly.

  "What do you mean? I OWN it?" When this was over, I was sitting down with Babe and Dr. O and finding out exactly what I had inherited.

  Babe shrugged and nodded. "There was no point in telling you until the time made sense. Now, it makes sense."

  "I am getting tired of this witchy stuff," I grumbled.

  "We get pretty sick of vampires sometimes, too," she raised her eyebrows at me. "You'll adapt."

  I ignored that.

  Max piped up, "So we go there. Then what? How do we know he'll show up?"

  "I'll take care of it," Frankie stood. "We leave at 10:30 tonight."

  "And what are you going to do?" I really hoped he wasn't going to do anything stupid.

  "Making sure Marcello shows," he grinned, showing some fang. "I'll track him on the vampire network."

  "Frankie, that is the biggest load of bullshit you have ever given me," I said, rolling my eyes. Seriously. Vampire network? Did he think I was an idiot?

  "When you die, you'll understand," he quipped. He was so obnoxious.

  "Just make sure he shows," Dr. O chimed in, probably to stop our bickering.

  "Nina, would you go see the good Father tomorrow afternoon and get the weapons sorted? I'll drop a note in the box before sun-up, to let him know you'll swing by," Frankie rubbed my head, ruffling my hair. See? Obnoxious.

  CHAPTER 29

  Holy Ghost Catholic Church was almost at the crest of the hill that led into the Federal Hill, the old Italian section of Providence. It is sandwiched between two derelict neighborhoods. Where Federal Hill was once a fashionable enclave for Italians to live in Rhode Island, it was now just a shell of a Little Italy. Behind the façade of red, white and green flags, it was a rough-and-tumble neighborhood for new immigrants, mainly from South America.

  I sprinted two at a time up the endless stairs leading to the front entrance. I caught my breath at the top, then pushed open the front door. Only when I wasn't struck down by lightening did I exhale.

  An elderly priest looked up from the altar.

  "Nina," Father Dougherty genuflected at the altar before rushing down the center aisle.
He was a sprite old man.

  He hugged me tight and kissed me on top of the head.

  I smiled up at him. "Good to see you, Padre."

  My mom and Babe were raised at the knee of Father Dougherty, who came to Holy Ghost as a young cleric direct from Ireland. I wasn't religious, but I still inherited my mother's strong personal bond with Father Dougherty. The Catholic thing was just a slight inconvenience. That said, I appreciated the ritual of a Catholic mass.

  And Father Dougherty, he got it. In fact, he was the one that introduced my parents to Dr. O. He sheltered both of my parents on several occasions from various supernatural freaks, as well as some human ones, that were after them at one time or another. And he was the one that imbued my weapons with their demon-and-vampire-blasting power.

  Dr. O and Father Dougherty were old friends -- how old I wasn't quite sure, but I always suspected that the good Catholic was a Druid in hiding.

  Father Dougherty steered me towards the confessional box. I panicked for a second. Confession was the last thing I wanted right then.

  "Padre, I am not here for confession..." I stammered.

  "I know," he whispered, pushing gently on my back. "But get in there so we can talk privately."

  He slipped into his doorway. I sighed and entered my side of the confessional, shutting the door tightly behind me. Claustrophobia creeped at me. You have no idea how relieved I was to find out vampires don't really sleep in coffins, because I don't do well in confined spaces. Turns out, as long as the room was sealed off from sunlight, no coffins are required.

  Father Dougherty slid open the partition between us. "Sorry, Nina, but we can't risk being overheard. You have the blades, correct?"

  "Yes, of course," I was confused. The blades were the reason I was here. "Can't we just go into the little room...?"

  "We need to talk," he jumped in. "Nina, have you heard about the murders happening around the city?"

  "Yeah, the gang killings. So?" The tiny enclosure was making me anxious and more impatient than usual.

  "So you know, those people that died were members of this church. They were not gang-bangers. They were decent men and women -- with families." Father Dougherty was angry, protective of his congregation.

  "We know they aren't gang killings, Father." I sighed deeply. "We are chasing down the right people."

  "It's not just that!" Father Dougherty snapped. "Sorry, Nina...I know you and Frankie and Loch are on top of it but...the congregation. Well, some of them are superstitious. They are whispering about vampires."

  I couldn't see him from behind the confessional screen, but I imagined the wrinkles on his face more pronounced from worry.

  "They are right," I said, keeping my voice calm and measured. "We are after a vampire. The one that killed my parents."

  Father Dougherty sucked in his breath. "They are pulling closer and closer to you, Nina. To us."

  "Who? Marcello?" I didn't like the sound of this.

  "We need to get you ready." Ignoring my question, he slid open the door to the confessional. The rustle of his robes let me know he’d exited. I stumbled out of my little box.

  Father Dougherty moved at a brisk pace to a small room behind the altar. He threw off the cloth covering an old wooden table that was carved with intricate symbols and motioned that he was ready. I unwrapped my leather carrier and pulled out my wrist knives, my dad's knife and the crossbow bolts. I dropped them on the altar.

  Father Dougherty picked up one of the bolts admiringly. "These are new."

  "Yeah, Frankie made them last night. The crossbow is pretty impressive too." I fingered the bolts.

  He pulled a bolt closer to examine its detail. "Did you know Frankie drew these ruins in blood? His blood?"

  I shook my head. "No. Does that mean something?"

  "That sort of bloodletting is an ancient practice. It imbues the weapon with a lot of power. The vampire blood makes it even more powerful. It's an impressive bit of magic that Frankie must have picked up somewhere over the centuries, before the falling out with the witches."

  Father Dougherty began chanting in an ancient language that sounded an awful lot like the language in the Grimoire. Happy that Babe wasn’t the only one to know the arcane language, I made a mental note to bring it with me next time.

  His chanting became louder and faster, and he poured Holy Water on the weapons from a large silver pitcher, also covered with rune-like symbols. The water washed over the cache and I could have sworn they were struck by lightning for a split second. I blinked and looked at them again, but the ritual was over, and they simply looked like weapons sitting in a puddle.

  Father Dougherty picked them up and carefully wiped each of them down before handing them to me. Hot against my fingers, I slipped them quickly into the leather pouch. They were practically vibrating.

  "Be careful, Nina," Father Dougherty said to me grimly. "I know what you are facing, and it's formidable. He almost made it into the church some years ago." His eyes filled with tears.

  The way the story goes, Father Dougherty tried to save them all those years ago. But my father, being full-blooded vampire, could not cross the threshold of the church. He left my mom, along with Babe and me, at the church. But Mom slipped out to fight by her husband's side. That decision left me an orphan.

  I touched his hand, "Not your fault, Padre. Mom was stubborn and willful and there was no way she was going to sit back while Dad was in trouble."

  The priest smiled at me grimly. "You inherited your mother's willfulness."

  "Of course I have," I said with a grin. "But it's combined with my father's ability to kick ass."

  A young altar boy walking past the chamber stopped short. He looked horrified at my words. Father Dougherty threw his hands up, as if Heaven would intervene. But I caught him suppressing a chuckle.

  I bowed my head at the offended boy and made my way back towards the pews. "Lo siento, por favore."

  We walked up the center aisle towards the doorway together.

  "Are you sure these weapons will do it?" he whispered.

  "I don't know," I replied quietly, as we passed a group of elderly Mexican women praying quietly in Spanish. "They are the best Frankie's ever made."

  "Good," he said, seeming a little more at ease. "I have something extra for you."

  He slipped something into my hand.

  I smiled at the two smooth glass vials attached to leather chords. "Holy Water?"

  He shook his head. "Gregorian water."

  I looked at him blankly.

  "Dr. O didn't give you any religious education beyond the basics, did he?" His voice was thick with annoyance.

  "Afraid not, Padre. But he also blew off Witchcraft 101." There was a bit of a professional rivalry between the Dr. O and Father Dougherty, and I wanted to diffuse any perceived slight. "So, please, can you explain?"

  "Gregorian water is stronger than Holy Water. It's a mix of Holy Water, wine, ashes.... We use it to consecrate the ground before we build a church, we use it to bless the altar," he explained. "Sprinkle it around you, and evil cannot touch you. The ground will be consecrated as if it were a church. It won't last long without a priest's blessing, but it should buy you enough time to get out of trouble."

  I nodded, slightly overwhelmed. It was a brilliant gift. Gregorian water wasn't exactly something I could pick up at the local religious store.

  "I used it on your blades too," Father Dougherty continued. "And the Holy Water in it is from Lourdes. I am not taking any chances."

  He stopped suddenly by the Holy Water vessel that sat at the church entrance, dipped his fingers in and blessed me.

  "En el nombre del Padre y del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo, Amén," he intoned. I found myself chanting along with him, to his delight.

  I hugged him tightly. "Gracias, Padre."

  He kissed the top of my head. "Of course, Nina. God be with you, my child."

  I sprinted down the steps of the church and into the overcast afternoon. I
wasn't so sure it was God that I needed. In fact, I suspected it might be a demon that I needed. I had one more errand to run before the sun set.

  CHAPTER 30

  I stood outside the Biltmore's revolving doors, staring up at the dilapidated building. Was I out of my mind?

  I suspected Ami Bertrand was holed up at the hotel. What other creep-a-zoid would have the gall to call himself the Mayor when he hadn’t won the election yet.

  I fiddled with the vials of Gregorian water looped around my neck by leather straps. I was going in unarmed, my weapons safely locked away at home. I didn't like the way he held my dad's knife the last time I saw him, like it pained him to give it back to me. I didn’t want to chance him stealing them. Especially my spectacular crossbow. That was one of a kind and, thanks to Frankie’s blood, a unique and powerful weapon. It was certain to grab his attention.

  But I didn't want to go in completely unarmed, so the Gregorian water was my only protection.

  Not that my weapons would do me much good anyway. There was no way to kill a demon. Well, no way that we knew. Exorcism only made them temporarily go away. And we had ways to make their lives miserable. But to permanently disappear? Nope.

  Luckily, there weren't many demons hanging around in the open. They were mostly the schemers of the underworld, preferring to stay hidden in plain sight while unleashing their misery through their conduits. Although impossible to prove, there were often demon tentacles attached to rogue vampires or rabid wares. Like any good politician, they excelled in keeping their hands clean.

  So while Bertrand was definitely well suited to run for political office, it was highly unusual that he was doing so publicly.

  Breathing deeply, I pushed at the revolving door and spun into the lobby. I pushed my way past a sweaty, balding man in a stained dress shirt. Drunk, he stumbled into me, and then grabbed my arm to hold himself up. He reeked of cheap gin. I shoved him off a little too hard. He went airborne, landing in a heap at the bottom of the steps.

  "Hey! Lady!" A skinny guy working reception stretched over the desk, as if that was going to stop me.