by Jaye Wells
Adam grabbed my hand. “Hey,” he said quietly. I looked up into his familiar warm eyes. “We’re close. Don’t lose your nerve now.”
I squared my shoulders. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
Opening the door, I pasted a smile on my face. “Hey, guys.”
Zen, Rhea, and Giguhl looked up. From the looks of things, they’d been busy trying to clean up. Zen looked up from lighting a candle on her restored altar, which featured a few new items, including 151-proof rum, iron nails, and a machete.
“How did your errand go?” Zen blew out the match.
I sighed. “Not so good, actually.”
Giguhl narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”
I ran a hand over my face. “Unfortunately, we were right. Alodius was involved in the attack. He wasn’t here, but he was the one feeding intel to the attackers.”
“Where is he?” Zen asked, but her eyes told me she already knew the truth.
“Dead.”
She crossed herself and closed her eyes.
Rhea stepped up. “Did you get any information out of him first?”
Adam filled them in on everything we knew. When he finished, Zen dropped into a chair, looking a little shell-shocked. “I still can’t believe he was wrapped up in this, this Brotherhood. I’ve known him for years. He always seemed so friendly.”
Part of me envied her ability to have faith in people. On the other hand, I couldn’t believe she wasn’t cursing the man’s name. Because of him, her business was ruined and her friend was experiencing some major emotional trauma in the aftermath of a brutal beating.
“Regardless, we have some information to go on now. It’s not much, but it’s more than we had three hours ago,” Rhea said.
“We should pay Erron Zorn another visit,” Adam said. “Now that we know Lavinia and the Brotherhood are planning on summoning Master Mahan, any info he can give us about the Caste might help.”
I sighed deeply. Once again, time was working against us.
Zen looked up. “We didn’t find any other clues while we were cleaning. That must mean the picture of Maisie is the key to finding the location.”
I reached into my jacket and held up the photo. Zen took it from me and we all gathered around her. “Okay, here’s the plan,” she said. “You and Adam pay the recreant a visit and find out what you can about the Caste. Rhea and I will scan the photo into my computer and analyze it for clues.”
I felt torn, wanting to be both places at once. “You’ll call the minute you find something?”
Zen and Rhea nodded. “Absolutely.”
“What about Pussy Willow?” I asked. “She’s pretty shaken up after everything.”
Giguhl stepped forward. “I’ll go check on her before I do my rounds.”
I smiled at the demon. “Thanks, G.” I turned to Adam. “Let’s go.”
The demon sun was high in the sky by the time we finally found Erron. The delay in locating him was due to a brief detour to his house. A surly little person, who it turns out wasn’t a hooker at all but Erron’s hairdresser, greeted us at the front door and informed us—after five minutes of arguing—that we’d find him at City Park doing his sound check. With everything else going on, I’d almost forgotten it was already Halloween and that Erron was playing Voodoo Fest.
When we finally found him in the huge park, Erron stood at the foot of a large stage overlooking an empty grassy area. Rows of oak trees flanked the green space, which, come nightfall, would be filled with thousands of Necrospank 5000 fans. In the meantime, the sun beat down on us like a drunken stepfather. Luckily, in addition to the pints I’d chugged at Alodius’s shop, I’d had the forethought to toss a couple extra in Adam’s backpack, because otherwise I’d have been useless for the rest of the day.
In contrast to the idyllic park setting, the air filled with the metallic, thrusting beat of industrial music. Erron stood at the foot of the stage hugging a microphone like a security blanket, rocking back and forth in a trance. Then, suddenly, his voice rose over the music like a rusty nail down a chalkboard. Other than a few “fucks,” he might as well have been screaming in tongues.
I leaned toward Adam. “Someone’s got some anger issues.”
A smile lifted the corner of Adam’s mouth, but he kept his eyes on the recreant. “Let’s hope he’s gotten it out of his system enough to chat.”
We moved forward then to climb the stage’s steps. That move gained us the attention of festival workers in yellow windbreakers who wielded walkie-talkies like weapons.
The commotion with the workers was loud enough to distract the keyboardist, who missed a couple of notes. I know that because a beat later, Erron Zorn, who until that time had been lost in his song, stopped screaming and spoke in a deadly calm voice. “Nicodemus.” He didn’t turn around to address his bandmate. “Do we have a problem?”
“Erron,” Adam called. The lead singer’s head tilted up and slowly turned. His eyes narrowed into an icy stare.
“I’m in the middle of a sound check.” He said it like he fully expected us to apologize and back away slowly.
“We need your help,” Adam said.
Erron smiled humorlessly. “The last time I helped you, that one”—he jerked his head toward me—“thanked me for my efforts with insults. And now you interrupt my sound check and expect me to drop everything because you have a problem? Not bloody likely.” He nodded to the band. A split second later, the stage filled with the ear-splitting music again. Erron turned his back to us and started singing again as if nothing happened.
Adam nudged me with an elbow. I shot him a glare. His eyebrows rose and he pointed toward the recreant’s back. I set my jaw and looked to the sky for patience, only to find the sun’s cornea-searing light instead. I blinked back the tears of pain and sighed. Time to grovel. Again.
“Erron!” I yelled. My voice evaporated into the wall of sound. Gods, I did not have time for this shit. So I pulled my gun from my waistband, pointed it to the sun, and pulled the trigger five times. The music cut off abruptly as band members dove to the stage. Only Ziggy, the deaf mage drummer, remained at his station behind the drum kit. He shook his head and rolled his eyes in judgment. Meanwhile, Adam cast a freeze spell on the bouncers, who were about to tackle me from behind.
Erron’s scream trailed off as he turned slowly. I’d expected another glare, but apparently gunplay amused the mage, because he smiled wryly. “You could have just tapped me on the shoulder.”
I ignored his sarcasm and forged ahead with the apology to get things moving. “Look, I’m sorry if I insulted you the other night. I wasn’t aware of your… limitations. Someone I care about was injured, and you refused to help him. But perhaps I could have been a tad more… diplomatic with my delivery.” I paused for a breath. “Now, since your band is already distracted, would you please take a break and speak to us for a few moments?”
Erron watched me, as if pondering whether saying no would result in more gunfire. I raised an eyebrow and tapped the gun on my thigh to let him know it would.
Finally, he nodded. “Take five,” he said to the band. To me he said, “Let’s go to my dressing room.”
Two minutes later, Adam, Erron, and I sat on stained couches in the recreant’s dressing room. Serving trays on the coffee table offered an assortment of deli meats, cheeses, and Quaaludes. After Adam and I each refused his offer of drinks, he opened a bottle of top-shelf vodka he pulled from an ice bucket.
“So what’s up?” Erron propped his booted feet up on the coffee table. His raven hair was expertly mussed, and he wore his trademark aviators.
“We need you to tell us everything you know about the Caste of Nod.”
Erron slowly swallowed his mouthful of liquor. “How much time you got?”
“Not much,” Adam said. “How about the Cliff’s Notes version.”
The recreant leaned forward and set the bottle on the table. “I think you two better tell me what the hell you’ve got yourselves mixed up
in first.”
“We don’t have time for all that,” I said. “We have it on good authority that some members of the Caste, a secret society of humans, and the leader of the vampire race are trying to summon Master Mahan here tomorrow night. So anything you can tell us that will help us defeat them and him would be great.”
Erron threw back his head and laughed. Then he raised the bottle of vodka in a mocking salute. “If that’s the case, I suggest you two have a drink, after all.”
I frowned at him. “Why?”
“Because you might as well get drunk until it’s time to kiss your asses good-bye.”
“You know who he is?” Adam asked.
Erron took another sip and nodded.
Recalling my dream with the beautiful male with the bright red hair and the werewolf with the shotgun, I said, “He’s a vampire, right?”
“No,” the recreant said. “Not exactly.”
Adam crossed his arms. Obviously the mancy was as tired of the runaround as me. “Are you going to tell us or not?”
“Master Mahan isn’t a vampire.” Erron leaned forward like a man about to divulge a bombshell. “But he is the father of all vampires.”
My mouth fell open. I turned slowly to look at Adam. He spoke first. “Are you telling us that the leader of the Caste of Nod is Cain? As in Mark of Cain, Cain and Abel, Lilith’s lover Cain, Cain?”
I started laughing before I could help myself. How gullible did this dude think we were?
Erron nodded, his expression serious. “Yes. And I could tell you all sorts of stories about him. But the only thing you need to know right now is that you cannot and will not beat him. So you either need to figure out a way to make sure the Caste doesn’t summon him to New Orleans or you get the hell out of town.”
“And you better stick to songwriting, mage, because fiction isn’t your forte,” I said. “Of anyone in the history of the dark races who I’d believe as the leader of the Caste of Nod, Cain would be the last.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Lilith dumped his ass for a chance to marry Asmodeus and become the Queen of Irkalla. Why would Cain start a secret group who worships Lilith so much they want to bring about her second coming?”
Erron slammed his bottle on the table. “You’re assuming the rumors you’ve heard about the prophecies are true. You’re also assuming that Cain has told the truth to his followers about why he wants Lilith to return. Sabina, Cain was the first murderer in history. Do you really think he’s trustworthy?”
“If he is the leader of the Caste, then why do so many dark-race members trust him?” Adam said. “Surely someone else would have asked those same questions by now.”
Erron shrugged. “Charismatic cult leaders have convinced otherwise intelligent beings into all sorts of irrational action throughout history.”
Adam ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I think we need to back up. How do you know all of this in the first place?”
Erron leaned back in his chair. “I told you before that the Caste tried to recruit me?” We nodded. “Recruit might have been an understatement. Stalked me was more like it. The harassment went on for a while and I kept resisting. They escalated by beating Ziggy within an inch of his life. He recovered eventually, slowly, but his hearing never returned. And when that didn’t convince me, the Caste killed the rest of the band.”
Adam gasped. “Oh, my gods. The plane crash. That’s what really happened?” Erron’s face remained impassive, but he didn’t argue. I frowned at them until Adam explained. “It was big news when it happened. The plane got caught in a storm and went down over the Atlantic.”
“They were meeting me in Europe to start a tour. Ziggy was still in the hospital, and I’d gone ahead to spend some quality time with a Parisian model. The thing the news didn’t report was that the entire band was made up of mages back then. No way that plane would go down with their magical abilities to save them. Something else happened.”
“You believe it was the Caste’s doing?”
“You have to understand, I was pretty fucked up after that,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “Even though Ziggy and I had gone recreant in our youth, I tried to ask the Hekate Council for help. Of course they denied me. Not surprising. I had already lost half my mind. The newspapers said it was ‘exhaustion,’ but I had a complete nervous breakdown. Anyway, long story short, once I got my mind back, I made it my mission to make the Caste pay for what it had done. Used every resource at my disposal.” He exhaled a long stream of gray smoke. “Eventually, I found a group in Europe that had been documenting the Caste’s supposed activities. With their help, I spent years trying to find out who their leader was.
“Eventually I found him—Cain. Back then his base of operations was a penthouse in Tokyo’s Roppongi district. As I stood over his bed with a gun to his temple, he calmly said he was impressed with my dedication. Said killing my band was regrettable, but it was my own fault for being so stubborn. That did it.” He paused, rubbing at his forehead. “I just snapped. Put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.”
When he paused for another drag, I realized I hadn’t taken a breath since he began his story. I swallowed in some air and breathed, “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Erron laughed, the sound filled with acid. He lifted a finger to his forehead like a gun. “Apple-cider bullet to the brain and the fucker just laughed at me. After that, I was so scared I flashed the fuck out of there before he could retaliate or kidnap me or whatever.”
Erron took another long swig of vodka, as if the alcohol could cleanse away the lingering bitterness of the memories.
“I didn’t sleep for six months after that, worried he’d show up and kill me. But eventually I realized he was done with me. It took a couple more years to get my shit together enough for a comeback tour with a new all-human band—except for Ziggy, of course.”
“So Cain is immortal,” Adam said.
“I don’t accept that,” I said. “Vampires are immortal, too, but we can still be killed. The forbidden fruit might not weaken him, but he wouldn’t get very far without his head.”
“But that’s the rub,” Erron said. “Have you read the legends about Cain?”
I scoffed. “My grandmother is the head of the vampire race. Of course I know the Cain legends.”
“Not the vampire legends, Sabina. The human ones. From the Bible.”
I laughed. “Of course not.”
“When God punished Cain, he marked him with red hair, a symbol of his immortality. But then God took it a step further and said that anyone who managed to kill Cain would be punished sevenfold.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I demanded. “You can’t die seven times.”
“No,” Erron said. “But you and six of the people you love most can be killed and your souls doomed to eternal punishment.”
I crossed my arms. “This is bullshit. We came to you for fact, not human fucking folklore.”
“Sabina,” Erron said, “Cain killed everyone I cared about because I turned down an invitation to his club. I don’t know what you’ve done to gain his interest, but you need to take this threat seriously. And if I were you, I’d spend less time doubting his power and more time trying to figure out how to stop the Caste from summoning him tomorrow.”
“Why would Lavinia and the Caste need to summon him?” Adam asked. Obviously the mancy bought Erron’s story—or was much better at humoring psychos than me.
Erron shrugged. “Beats me.” He tossed the cigarette into a half-empty beer bottle and rose. “Now your five minutes are up.”
At that moment Adam’s cell rang, bursting into the shocked silence like an alarm. Adam jerked to grab it, walking a few steps away to listen.
I jumped up to intercede Erron. “Just hold on a second.”
Adam flipped the phone shut. “Zen said they need us to come back.”
“Did they figure out where Maisie is?”
He shook his head. “She d
idn’t elaborate, but she sounded excited. We need to go. Now.”
With my adrenaline surging with hope, I turned to convince Erron to help us. “Listen, we need your hel—”
He cut me off. “No. Don’t waste your breath trying to convince me to join your cause. I’ve faced this foe before and got my ass kicked. It’s taken me too long to rebuild my life to throw it away again on a suicide mission.”
“That didn’t stop you the other night,” Adam said, his voice low and angry.
Erron looked at him. “A fist fight with a few Caste vamps is a schoolyard rumble compared to the massacre you’re courting if you don’t stop this summoning. Now, I wish you the best of luck, but I have a sound check to do.”
With that, Erron Zorn walked away.
“Fucking recreants,” Adam muttered. Then he flashed us out of the dressing room and back to Zen’s office.
24
Zen punched a couple of buttons and clicked the mouse until the picture of Maisie appeared on the large monitor. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the periphery instead of at my sister’s ravaged body.
Rhea pointed to a sliver of stone in the upper corner of the shot. “At first we thought that might be nothing, but then we realized it’s the bottom of a stone wing.”
My eyes started to sting from squinting, but the shape was indeed vaguely wingish. I pulled back a bit to get a new perspective. “And there’s a foot, I think. A statue, maybe?”
“An angel,” Rhea said.
I looked at Zen. “Do you recognize it?”
She shook her head. “This is a Catholic city. Angel statues are everywhere.”
I made a frustrated sound, but Rhea said, “Wait for it.”
Zen zoomed again. Adam grabbed my hands and squeezed. I glanced at him in time for him to breathe, “Oh, my gods.”
My eyes jumped back to the screen. Beside me, Adam let out a curse that would make even Giguhl blush.
The writing said: Requiescat in pace.
“When we saw that, we realized that Sabina’s conversation with the zombie wasn’t totally wasted,” Zen said.