I kept the rifle on Hodge and Morris until Bastien got into position, and then I moved back toward the campfire. “Orville! You and Mama Reba get your worthless, filthy redneck asses out here, now! With the goddamned cuff key!”
I glared at the silver Airstream that had haunted my dreams for years until the two of them filed out—both pissed off as a kicked-over hornet’s nest, but empty-handed except for the key ring with a single key dangling from Orville’s finger.
“Don’t think for a second you’re getting away from us again, boy,” Orville said. “I’ll—”
“Shut up.”
He did.
“Now,” I said. “You’re going to give that key to my good friend Zoba, there. Say hello, Zoba.”
Zoba faced them and made a noise. It did not sound like a greeting.
Orville’s lip curled as he handed the key over. “Now what?”
I didn’t even acknowledge the question.
Without any prompting, Zoba approached me and unlocked the cuffs. I managed to keep the screams back as he removed them, along with a few layers of skin. “Hold onto those, will you?” I said to him. “They don’t get to keep them.”
He flashed a grin and draped the chains around his neck.
With the cold iron off me, I was already feeling stronger. Not that I could run a marathon or anything, but it was enough for what I needed to do. I shouldered the rifle and pointed it at the people who were never my parents. “Get over there with your hell-spawn,” I said. “Move it.”
I followed them with the rifle as they walked briskly to join Hodge and Morris. Seeing all four of them together, with identical expressions of rage, should’ve terrified the shit out of me. Hell, it still did, on a visceral level I couldn’t control.
But I was done living with that fear.
“You know we cared for you, boy,” Orville said—probably seeing his life flash before his eyes. “We only did what we did to toughen you up. And it worked.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” My hands were surprisingly still as I took aim. “You had nothing to do with what I am. Do you understand that? Nothing.”
“Boy, you don’t have the guts to shoot me!”
I pulled the trigger. The bullet plowed into the ground, inches from Orville’s feet.
Exactly where I wanted it to go.
“Let’s find out if I do, shall we?” I said, and raised the gun to head level. “I think it’s time for target practice.”
I’d never seen four people turn and run away so fast.
I stood there watching them bolt through the swamp, willing my body to stop trembling. At least I’d managed to keep the shakes out of my hands. Finally, I lowered the rifle and turned back to the camp.
“We’re done here,” I said. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 31
Since Morris was thoughtful enough to leave the keys in it, we took the truck.
I had my boots back, too. I’d forgotten about Garth until he came running up, just as we were leaving the camp, and dropped them hastily at my feet. I’d thanked him, but I didn’t think he heard me. The kid was off like a shot before the boots hit the ground.
Hopefully, that was the last Valentine I’d ever see.
The truck was a quad cab. Denei drove with Reun riding shotgun, and Zoba and the others sat in the bed so I could stretch out on the back seat.
It wouldn’t have mattered where I rode. Right now, any position short of floating in mid-air was going to hurt. But I didn’t tell them that, since they were only trying to help.
“So, how’d you find me?” I said when we got moving.
Reun shifted to look between the front seats. “I believe I’ve told you that I can track nearly any spell,” he said. “Including a gealdht, like the one that still influences you.”
“Right. You did mention that once.” I thought about changing my position a little, but decided it wouldn’t be any more comfortable. It’d just hurt more to move. “And you can find your way back okay from here, Denei?”
“Sure, I know this place. Ain’t too many stretches of solid ground in these parts.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. “We really just gonna let them be, after what they done to you?” she said. “I mean…”
I’d been thinking about that. Not killing them was the right thing to do, but letting them continue to roam around doing Milus Dei’s dirty work wasn’t. “Could you explain to a stranger how to get to that campsite?” I said.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Well, it’s going to take them a while to realize I’m not tracking them, and another while to decide they should break camp. Because they’re arrogant fucks. They’ll want to get another night of hunting in, at least,” I said. “So if I make a phone call when we get back to your village, I can have them rounded up and sent to prison. For multiple lifetimes.”
Denei flashed a skeptical look. “That ain’t how the cops work around here,” she said. “Even if they bother arresting anybody, they’d be out in a day. Far as they concerned, ain’t no crime in the bayou.”
I smirked. “I’m not calling the cops. They’re on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.”
“Well, damn,” she said. “Guess that’ll do it.”
I was pretty sure it would, especially if I had Captain Abraham Strauss of the NYPD contact the FBI instead of Gideon Black, retired body mover. Abe probably wouldn’t be too thrilled with that. But at least he’d be glad to know I was still alive. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll rest until we get back,” I said. “It’s been a long night.”
“Of course.” Reun gave me that strange look again. “Gideon…who are those people? How do you know so much about them?”
I took my time answering. “They’re the Valentines,” I said. “And they used to be my family.”
This time when I closed my eyes, I actually slept.
And there were no dreams.
T-Sam and Aubin were on the porch when we pulled up in front of the house. As soon as I hauled my battered carcass out of the back seat, T-Sam locked eyes with me, then stood abruptly and went inside.
Maybe he was pissed off that I hadn’t brought his lantern back.
The twenty feet from the road to the porch looked way too far to walk just yet. I leaned against the truck while the rest of them got out and gathered, trying to mentally sort through everything I had to do before I could crash for a few hours.
And the first thing was standing a few feet away, deliberately not looking at me.
“Bastien.”
He faced me with a raised brow. “Yeah?”
“Sorry I was so…short with you, back there,” I said. “Those people, they’re a lot more dangerous than you know.”
He smiled. “Ain’t no thing. I figured you knew what you’s doin’, me.” He glanced at Isalie, and nodded like he was agreeing with something. “But damn, you is one scary mother,” he said.
“Bastien,” Isalie said sharply. “That ain’t nice.”
I laughed. “It’s fine. I’ve heard that a time or two.”
“Mais, he don’t have to put it like that.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Really, it’s okay.” I was going to have to be one scary mother, if we had any hope of beating Legba. But right now I had to tie up the loose ends around the other monsters. “So we need to…”
I trailed off as T-Sam came from the porch with a shirt in one hand and a full bottle in the other. He walked up to me and tossed the shirt. “You a mess, white boy,” he said.
That was when I realized I’d been standing here shirtless and hadn’t even thought about people staring at me in horror. For the first time, my scars weren’t dictating my actions. They didn’t matter anymore.
The Valentines were no longer calling the shots in my life.
“Um. Thank you.” I shrugged carefully into the shirt, not wanting to insult T-Sam while he was actually speaking to me. Sort of.
He looked me up and down, and then held out the bottle. “Dis rum,” he said. “L
ooks of you, best drink the whole t’ing.”
“I think I can manage that.”
He grunted. It might’ve been an approving grunt.
“Anyway,” I said. “We need to get rid of this truck. Drive it into the river, or the swamp. Somewhere it’s not going to be found.”
T-Sam grunted again and held a hand out. Apparently, Denei understood this as ‘give me the keys, I’ll take care of it’, because she dropped them into his palm. He nodded, whistled loudly over his shoulder and jerked his head.
That brought Aubin off the porch. No words were exchanged as the two of them climbed into the pickup and drove off.
“Damn,” I said. “Is your whole family psychic?”
All the Duchenes laughed, and even Zoba cracked a smile. “Nah, we jes’ kin,” Denei said. “We got loads of practice not talkin’ to each other.”
“Yeah, ’specially Oncle T. He like you,” Bastien said, pointing to the bottle. “He don’t share his rum with nobody.”
“Okay, then.” I smiled and thought maybe I could make it to the house now, especially with the promise of a drink or five at the end. And sleep. Lots of sleep. “There’s a phone around here somewhere, right?” I said.
Isalie nodded. “Up the house.”
“Good. I’ll call Abe, so he can have the trash picked up.” Then there’d only be one thing left to do—but it was a damned big thing. “And tonight, we go after Legba.”
CHAPTER 32
There were two cars waiting for us at the mainland docks after the trek back through the bayou on T-Sam’s boat. Bastien and Isalie had taken one of them to run some unspecified errands, and they’d meet us in a few hours.
The rest of us were headed to New Orleans.
Abe had been just about as upset as I figured. Especially when he asked what part of Chicago the area code I’d called from was, and I said the Louisiana part. He’d grumbled something about how I’d better not be in South America the next time I called. But he agreed to call the FBI, with the promise that he was going to interrogate the hell out of me about all this when I got home. Emphasis on when.
I’d smiled to myself when a trio of low-flying black helicopters that had to be government passed over us in the swamps. Score one for the best damned captain in the NYPD. Maybe they’d give him another promotion for such a big bust.
He’d hate that, too.
Zoba was driving with Denei upfront, me and Reun in the back. We were still in a largely residential area, but only five or ten minutes away from the city proper. After a good stretch of sleep and some food in me, I was feeling almost normal again. And the moon had just come out, so that would take care of the rest.
Of course, the fact that this might be my last night alive kind of put a damper on the whole feel-good recovery thing. I would’ve tried to take another day or two, make sure everyone was at full strength and we had as many advantages as possible before we went after Legba. But he’d already demonstrated that he could spy on his “children” whenever he felt like it.
And if he found out we were still plotting against him, he’d just kill the rest of the Duchenes.
“So, how’s this going to work?” I said. “I get that voodoo is about belief, but my magic isn’t voodoo. I guess I’m supposed to just be the DeathSpeaker really hard at him, and then he’ll…give up?”
Okay, I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud. It sounded insane. Definitely not helpful in making me believe any of this was going to work.
Denei shifted sideways in her seat. “You got voodoo, if you believe you do,” she said. “You is as big as you is.”
“Excuse me?”
She smiled a little and patted Zoba’s shoulder, and he made a soft sound. “Somethin’ our pauvre maman used to say. You is as big as you is.” She gestured like she was searching for words. “Means you got all the power you need, long as you got the confidence to use it.”
Great. Self-confidence wasn’t exactly my strong suit. “Right, so believe in myself,” I said. “Anything else I should do? Because that seems like…not enough to keep from getting murdered in about five seconds flat.”
“You cain’t give him the power. Belief goes both ways—you gotta believe he ain’t strong enough to beat you,” she said. “And it don’t hurt to have other folk believe in you. That’s why he’s so strong. Everybody knows what he is…least, what he’s supposed to be. He goes by Legba ’cause that name has power.” Her expression grew furious. “But he is not a god. He’s a thief and a monster. Everything he got, he stole, right down to the name.”
That, I could believe with no problem. “Shouldn’t I be this Baron Samedi, then?” I said. “That’s a name with power. And he’s afraid of it.”
Denei shook her head. “You be you. The DeathSpeaker,” she said. “You got the real power. You can make your truth greater than his lies.”
I sighed. This was making less sense by the minute. “Got any suggestions on how I can do that?” I said.
“No, I don’t.” She met my eyes with a steady gaze. “Because I ain’t you, handsome.”
“Perhaps I can assist you,” Reun said. “Do you know what the DeathSpeaker is?”
“Yeah. A weapon of mass destruction.”
“In the wrong hands, yes. But the DeathSpeaker is held in high regard. It has always been considered a position of nobility among the Fae.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Certainly a title that’s afforded greater respect than my own.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Lord Gideon.” I shook my head, remembering how ‘Lady’ Sadie and I had joked about that while we were at the Mirror Mender’s palace in Arcadia. Everyone there had been really big on titles and royalty. “I’m not a noble, Reun,” I said. “I’m just a half-human who somehow got stuck with this DeathSpeaker stuff.”
Reun’s green eyes flared. “You are Lord Gideon,” he said, in a deep tone that brooked no argument. “You’ve fought side by side with the prince of both realms. You have defeated a queen, and gained the favor of a king. And you are not ‘stuck’ with anything. You are the DeathSpeaker. Do you understand this?”
I started to say no. But then I remembered the first time I met Reun.
He’d been working for Milus Dei. That made us enemies. I could still see him standing there—the all-powerful Seelie noble Taeral had warned me not to fight, because I didn’t have a chance against him. The one who’d just tossed my brother’s prosthetic arm on the ground in a gesture of sheer contempt, after beating him into terrified submission.
I remembered every word he’d said.
So. You are the DeathSpeaker. How does it feel, holding a power with such potential—great good, or unspeakable evil? You must believe yourself a god.
I’d answered I believe myself pissed off, you sick son of a bitch.
And then I’d fought him to a standstill. Even though I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he was a thousand times more powerful than me. I did it before…and I could do it again.
Now I knew what I needed to out-god Legba.
“I’m going to need some money. Cash,” I said. “And find me a tailor.”
Reun stared at me for a minute. Finally, he smiled. “Aye, that’s the way,” he said. “Never doubt who you are—and never allow anyone else to doubt you.”
That was exactly my plan.
CHAPTER 33
Rothchild-DuPont Couturiers, situated in one of the busiest sections of the French Quarter, looked and sounded like the kind of place I actively avoided. All upscale sophistication and pretentiousness, where anyone who walked in with so much as a whiff of street would be shamed into leaving by the thunderously silent disapproval of the highly trained staff.
And I was about to grace their presence in my borrowed t-shirt, swamp-grimed jeans, and clunky work boots that still had blood on them.
We also had a few thousand dollars. I had no idea how Reun and Denei had gotten that much cash, or the briefcase they’d stored it in, and I wasn’t going to ask. Five or six blocks ago, De
nei had Zoba park at a curb and wait while she and Reun went into an unlabeled door across the street, between a novelty tourist shop and a restaurant called Voo-Doin’s Wine & Dine. And they’d come out fifteen minutes later with a suitcase full of twenties.
So that wasn’t remotely suspicious or anything.
At the door of the tailor’s, a discreet sign gave the hours as 10 a.m. to 7 p.m., closed Sunday and Monday, after-hours services available by appointment only. It was 6:40 now. I didn’t know how long it would take to tailor a suit, but I suspected the answer was not twenty minutes. I’d just have to make myself an appointment.
I dropped my glamour before we went inside.
The main room of the place was all glass display cases and polished black and chrome tables, with an occasional step rack holding select suits. Three or four customers, two salespeople on the floor, and another behind a podium-style counter to the right.
The blond man behind the counter wore a slate gray three-piece with a ridged white shirt and a rich maroon cravat. He barely glanced up from the receipts he was sorting through when the door opened. “We’re closing soon,” he said in flat, dismissive tones with no trace of a regional accent. “If you’re looking for a jacket and tie so the overpriced restaurant will let you in, there’s a department store down the street.”
I walked to the podium and waited until he looked up. The cold annoyance drained from his face by degrees, leaving startled disbelief. His mouth opened, but no words came out of it.
Zoba had the briefcase. He handed it to me, and I dropped it flat on the counter, scattering the receipts. “Dress me.”
It was like flipping a switch. “Of course, sir,” the man said, the haughty tone completely replaced with deference. His posture straightened, and he gave one sleeve of his suit a discreet tug—even though there wasn’t a crease in sight. As he walked out from behind the counter, he tried not to look like he was staring at the others behind me. “Perhaps your…friends would prefer to wait outside?”
Return of the Hunters (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 4) Page 12