Darkness Descending

by Devyn Quinn

  Maddox tightened his grip on the drill. “I guess we’d have to take her out. But until she proves dangerous to us, I believe she deserves a chance to survive.”

  Reyen immediately rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you want to bring her in?”

  Maddox nodded. “For now she’s staying with me.” He shrugged. “She’s been living on the streets, doing a piss-poor job of seeking vengeance. She knows she’s infected, knows what she’s got inside her is evil. And she’s fought it, as hard as she can. If we can help her, we should.”

  For now he’d hold off mentioning his belief that Jesse was chosen for a greater purpose. Reyen would never buy into the idea that a woman had been sent to lead them. Jesse would have to prove herself to convince him otherwise.

  “Great Spirit above, give me strength.” Reyen’s lips firmed. “Where is she now?”

  “She’s out getting some clothes. The poor thing had nothing.”

  Reyen clenched his jaw. “I really don’t give a shit about the state of her clothes,” he said with a bitter smile. “Only a snail eater would think about fashion.”

  Maddox ignored the jab to his heritage. If Reyen had his way, the Indians would have defeated all Europeans who dared set foot on their land.

  “I told her to meet us at Big Mike’s around eight.”

  Reyen huffed. “Great.” He thought a moment. “And if I can smell her . . . ,” he muttered, making sure his words were audible over the din of others working nearby.

  Maddox cut him short with a glare. “She’s with me,” he warned his comrade. “And until proven otherwise, she’s one of us.”

  Reyen returned the nasty look. “Just remember she is no Maddox and you are no Serafina.”

  Maddox winced. “That’s a low jab.” Without Serafina, who’d found and nursed him back to sanity after he’d been attacked by the Telave, he would never have understood the unique attributes of a Palindrome. As a female, Serafina didn’t hold the correct genetic structure. As the niece of a Palindrome, she had the unique advantage of understanding an enemy many humans couldn’t even begin to comprehend on any level. Trained in the art of death, Serafina was a fierce soldier in a battle that had begun many millennia ago on a celestial plane. She’d made it her life’s mission to destroy the Telave.

  The Indian shot him a sidelong glance. “Had she not convinced you otherwise, I know you would have stayed with the evil ones. You still haven’t broken your hunger for their dark kiss.”

  Ouch. Sometimes Maddox hated having a friend who knew his secrets, and his weaknesses.

  “It’s under control,” he muttered. “I haven’t indulged the need in a long time.”

  Reyen graced him with a speculative look. “Sometimes I wonder.”

  A twinge of guilt almost caused Maddox to flinch. He forced himself not to waver and certainly not to appear as one guilty. “I haven’t.”

  At that point Maddox broke eye contact and turned away from Reyen.

  He hated to look a man in the eyes when he lied.

  Chapter 7

  Jesse had to admit that Lenora Wilmington’s daughter dressed very well. By the time she’d gotten through digging through the girl’s old clothes, she’d scored a complete wardrobe.

  Not only had she walked away with several new pairs of jeans, but she’d also gotten at least three decent long-sleeved blouses to wear over some pretty snazzy T-shirts. Though she’d had to pass on a nice pair of granny-style ankle boots because they didn’t fit her big feet, she had managed to snag a real jewel—a knee-length black leather coat.

  She could hardly believe her eyes when Mrs. Wilmington had pulled the coat out of the garbage bag in which she’d piled her daughter’s discarded clothing. Except for a few scuffs around the skirt, it looked almost brand-new. A reaper embroidered in full color covered the back panel. Smaller skeletal figures ringed the cuffs, and silver chains lined the pockets. All in all, it was totally awesome.

  “You actually like that?” Lenora Wilmington asked when Jesse snagged the coat and slipped it on.

  Examining herself in the reflection of a nearby PT Cruiser, Jesse couldn’t help grinning. “Absolutely. I love the style.”

  Her ex-boss blanched. “I don’t understand what you young people see in these extremely morbid graphics. I see nothing in the woman’s designs that I like.”

  Jesse slipped the coat off. The label inside the coat was an elaborate SC, which marked it as a piece from the hugely popular Shadow Chic Goth line of clothing. She and Amanda had often begged for the clothes when Christmas and birthdays rolled around, but it was always a no-go with their parents. The pieces were ridiculously priced, with the cheapest blouse costing at least a hundred and twenty-five dollars. The jacket alone must have come in around five hundred, if not more.

  Lenora Wilmington wrinkled her nose. “Thank goodness Sharon outgrew this ugly stuff. Her rebellion was beginning to wear a little thin with her father.”

  Jesse fingered the coat. The leather was butter smooth under her fingers, and light enough for daily wear. Any teenager who got this stuff pretty much got what he or she wanted. “I hear the designer actually lives in New Orleans.”

  The older woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, you mean the recluse?”

  Jesse nodded. “Yeah. Celeste St. Cyr. Doesn’t she own the Blackadder Plantation?”

  Mrs. Wilmington gave another eye roll. “One of those celebrities who cloister themselves away from the public because they think they are too important to be seen by peons such as us. That name can’t be real, either. I’ll bet you someone probably knows her as Mary Jane from plain old Bywater.”

  Jesse winced. Her middle name was Jane. “Whoever she is, she made good.”

  “She makes ugly, overpriced clothing no sensible person would wear. When Sharon moved out, the first thing I thought was good-bye and good riddance.”

  Jesse hugged the coat closer. There was no way she’d part with it now that she’d gotten her hands on it. It was love at first sight, and she wasn’t turning it loose.

  Twenty minutes later, Jesse was the owner of a thrift store backpack stuffed with new clothes. Well, maybe not brand-new, but new to her. Using a nearby convenience store’s restroom, she dressed herself in something a little more flattering than sweatpants and a man’s flannel shirt. There wasn’t much she could do with her hacked-up mess of hair, so she decided to keep the ponytail. It wasn’t much of a tail, more of a stub, but it was neat. She considered letting it grow out again. All the prettiest women had long flowing locks.

  Several hours loomed ahead before Maddox would get off work. She spent the rest of the afternoon walking around. Though born and raised in New Orleans, she’d never visited a great portion of the place tourists flocked to year after year. Like most of the homegrown citizens, she’d been locked into her neighborhood and rarely ventured out. By the time seven p.m. rolled around, Jesse was ready for the day to be over. She headed toward Bourbon Street and the bar where Maddox had told her to meet him at around eight o’clock.

  Stepping off the bus, Jesse hitched her backpack up on her shoulders. She looked around, taking in all the unfamiliar sights and sounds. The French Quarter, like most parts of town developed before the late nineteenth century, was one of the few areas to remain unscathed by Katrina. It was also home to Bourbon Street, the famous and historic boulevard that spanned the length of the French Quarter. Tourists flocked to visit the multitude of bars, restaurants, and strip clubs, as well as the usual overpriced souvenir shops. Though largely quiet during the day, the district came alive at night.

  While many of the Bourbon Street businesses existed solely to fleece visiting rubes of a few dollars, there were parts of the Quarter even some of the locals wouldn’t go near.

  Jesse followed the street downriver, watching the relatively nice façade of the older historic buildings turn shabbier, more than a little bit ruined by decay and neglect.

  As Maddox had warned her, there was no sign outside Big Mike’s. But there was
an old-fashioned street-lamp glowing with a bright green bulb. Since it was the only one on the entire block, she had a pretty good idea she’d reached the correct destination.

  The bar didn’t look like a place anyone sane would want to go into. The door and windows were covered with rusting iron grating, the wood around the frames looking a little rotten and moldy. Plaster had been gouged out of the walls, showing the raw bricks beneath.

  A few motorcycles were propped on the curb outside, giving her a good idea of the clientele such a place attracted. With its remote location and dark exterior, it looked like a good place for a knifing or a shooting.

  Or an abduction, she thought as an ominous shiver crept up her spine.

  Jesse’s grip tightened on the straps of her backpack. Maybe agreeing to meet Maddox in such a place wasn’t a good idea after all. If she had any sense, she’d turn around and get the hell out of here.

  Don’t go in anywhere or with anyone you don’t know. The words circled through her mind, round and round like a carousel ride gone haywire.

  More motorcycles rumbled to the curb, a din of noise and belching pipes. Two of the roughest-looking men Jesse had ever laid eyes on ambled toward the entrance.

  Of course they spotted her.

  “You goin’ in, little girl?” a mound of flesh and muscle asked from beneath the layers of a tangled beard at least a foot long.

  Making a wide berth around the newcomers, Jesse quickly shook her head. “I’m waiting for someone,” she allowed. “I don’t know if he’s here yet or not.”

  “Who dat?” the other biker asked in a voice syrupy with cornpone and molasses.

  Jesse looked at the husky dreadlocked black man. He didn’t look like anyone Maddox would run with. But then again, she didn’t know exactly what kind of people populated the hazy pseudo-world of the vampire slayer. For the purpose of kicking vampire rear, these two could be perfect candidates. One thing was already certain: They didn’t hang out in nice places.

  “His name’s Maddox,” she ventured.

  The black man chuffed. “Oh, y’all be lookin’ for ol’ Mad Dog. Yeah, he hangs here, almost every night.”

  “You know if he’s around?”

  Tangled Beard gave her backpack a pull. “Come on here,” he said, tugging her toward the entrance. “I’ll show you right where he’s parked. Maybe we’re early enough that he ain’t drunk on his ass.”

  Jesse frowned. Maddox seemed to have more than a passing acquaintance with the bottle.

  They plunged into the dim gloom of what could rightly be described as a hole in the wall. A few dim lights, which were really just neon signs advertising alcoholic beverages, lit the bar holding up the back wall. The walls were bare. The floors were bare. A mishmash of odd-sized tables, chairs, and barstools filled the space. A few circular booths were shoved into far corners. The cloying odor of cigarette smoke, whiskey, and stale sweat singed her nostrils.

  Jesse struggled not to puke.

  The black man pointed. “There he be.” He propelled her across a bare concrete floor toward a booth cloaked in shadow.

  As her vision adjusted to the gloom, Jesse vaguely made out Maddox’s familiar shape. He had a cigarette in hand, and a beer stein surrounded by a few smaller glasses populated the space in front of him. Two men sat with him. One appeared to be pure Native American; the other a smaller, more diminutive Asian.

  She tried not to frown. The bikers actually looked friendlier than Maddox’s crew. A prickle rose along the back of her neck. She couldn’t explain why she felt uneasy. She just did. It was similar to the feeling she’d felt when she’d first met Maddox. Something about him had sent off warning flags.

  She shook off the feeling. Nerves, she thought. It was all so new, and scary.

  Catching sight of her, the Indian grunted. “That her?” he said, jerking a thumb her way.

  Maddox nodded. “Yes.” He lifted a hand and made a vague gesture. “Come here, Jesse.”

  Jesse took a breath to calm her nerves. Showtime. She wondered what Maddox might have told them about her. She hoped they didn’t equate her with a rabid dog.

  She quickly squelched the thought. Rabid animals were usually euthanized.

  The slender young Asian man slid out of his place as she approached. “Wow. You weren’t what I was expecting at all,” he said, offering her a place to sit.

  “Thanks, I guess.” Jesse slipped off her backpack. “What were you expecting?”

  He looked her up and down. “Given what I know about them, something thoroughly creepy.”

  Talk about being blunt. He didn’t waste time beating around the bush.

  She raised her chin a notch and stared him down. “I hope I’m not creepy.”

  The stranger smiled. “I hope I’m not, either.” He offered his hand. “I’m Sam Chen.” He paused a moment, then added with a grin, “Dr. Sam Chen.”

  Her gaze traveled over the man who’d greeted her. If anyone looked out of place in Big Mike’s, it was definitely this guy. He was at least half a head shorter than she. With his neat black slacks and crisp white shirt, he definitely didn’t match the look of his rougher-hewn comrades. The only rebellious streaks he seemed to show were in the silver earring dangling from one ear and the punk spiked cut of his black hair. It stuck out at all angles, giving him the look of an angry banty rooster.

  After a brief hesitation, Jesse went ahead and offered her hand. The hand that closed around hers was warm and strong—welcoming. She relaxed a little. “As in a real doctor,” she asked, “or one who just has a nickname?”

  Sam Chen’s gaze never wavered off her face. “As in fourth-year intern, whose career unexpectedly shifted to follow a very strange and bizarre path.”

  Jesse smiled as she set the backpack on the floor beside the booth, then slid in. “I get the strange and bizarre. Totally.” She liked Sam Chen, and he seemed to like her. Even though he wasn’t what she’d call her type, he oozed charm and charisma.

  It seemed a good start.

  Jesse scooted over until only a few inches separated her from Maddox. Sam Chen reclaimed the seat beside her. She was effectively boxed in.

  “You made it,” Maddox greeted, after taking a long drag off his cigarette. He smiled, and it seemed to her there was real pleasure behind his gesture. His hand squeezed her arm affectionately.

  Jesse shut her eyes against the tremor of awareness seeping through her veins. The embers smoldering in her core were definitely stirred. Maddox affected her on a physical level. His was the kind of touch that hinted of familiarity, of shared intimacy.

  At least Maddox was acting as though he wanted to see her. This might mean the ground under her feet would finally stabilize. A measure of security, however small, would be welcome.

  She paused a beat to mentally catch her breath before opening her eyes. “You did tell me to meet you here.”

  “And you’re right on time.” Maddox gave her a long look. “I see you got new clothes.” He reached out, fingering her new leather coat. “A little flashy, but nice.”

  Pleased with her new acquisitions, she laughed. “Thrift store,” she said, explaining how she’d come to be the owner of such a prized item. “I still have most of the money you gave me, if you want it back.”

  He waved a disinterested hand. “Keep it.”

  The Indian sitting with Maddox scowled. Blatant disapproval simmered in his eyes. “Can we cut the bullshit?” he asked, sucking down half a glass of beer in a single long swill. “I haven’t got all fucking night to listen to girly stories about clothes.”

  After taking one look at the massive Indian, Jesse was damn glad to have Maddox separating them. The man looked mean—and mad. Not crazy mad, but bone-snapping, flesh-tearing mad. There was no doubt he was one badass dude, either. He was totally hard-core in his looks. The sides of his head were shaved and tattooed. A thick strip of black hair ran down the center of his head, commencing in a long, thick braid that snaked down his back. His eyes were black a
nd looked as empty as bullet holes.

  Jesse had no doubt he was very, very mean.

  Beneath the table, Maddox gave her leg a reassuring squeeze. It was a silent signal that he was on top of things. “Yeah, we all know you’re pissed,” he said in an attempt to protect her. “But have a little respect, please. She’s still a person with feelings.”

  The vicious scowl deepened. Displeasure emanated off him in waves. His hatred of her couldn’t have come off louder if he’d shouted it through a bullhorn. “If she’s infected, she’s not human.” He took a long, deep draw of the stale air. “She reeks of demon.”

  Jesse felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment. Her feelings of security abruptly vanished. Good grief! Did she really have a distinctive odor? It was true that living on the streets didn’t offer many opportunities to bathe, but she’d caught a shower this morning, steeling herself against the ice-cold water to soap her body from head to toe—not once, but twice. “I—I’m sorry if I offend you.”

  “Ignore Reyen,” Maddox said, flicking away his ashes at random before turning a narrow gaze on his friend. “And back off her. She doesn’t need your flack. She’s already got more than enough problems without you busting her chops.”

  Reyen snorted. “You’re just hanging on to her because she’s female. It’s the Frenchman in you. If she were a man, you’d have already sent her back to demon hell.”

  “But she’s not,” Maddox pointed out. “What she is, is something we haven’t run into before—someone who isn’t a Palindrome who’s managed to survive the demonic infection.”

  Listening to the men argue, Jesse briefly considered getting up and leaving. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out these men weren’t going to welcome her with open arms. It’s true, she thought, discouraged. I don’t belong anywhere.

  Maybe she would be better off dead.

  Even though Maddox had warned Reyen to take it easy on Jesse when she arrived, he could already tell that wasn’t going to happen. In a surly mood, Reyen was doing his best to be rude, ugly, and thoroughly unpleasant to Jesse.