Sam nodded. “I had monster issues. You sent me to Jeremy. I work for him now.”
“He’s cute, isn’t he?”
“I guess so, yeah. Sometimes he seems very young.”
“Most people do to me.”
Samantha shuddered a little. “I came to get your help.” Sam quickly explained about the inquisition.
“Sure,” Debbie shrugged, generating an impressive jiggle, “but what can a sexy vampire do about it?”
“Help me. I need to get word to Diablesse, from someone he will listen to. Evil needs a vacation, unless it wants to deal with a new Templar and the Inquisition.”
Debbie sighed. “I’ve been though these cycles before. I’ll arrange to see Diablesse. I’d hate to break in a new Templar. He might not know how to give a girl her propers.” She gave Sam a speculative glance. “Say, honey, that’s a lovely neck you have there. What’s your blood type?”
Sam backed up. “Restricted.”
Debbie’s laughter followed Sam all the way back to her car.
*****
Hours later, Debbie Middleton walked into the plush downtown offices of Bob Diablesse, lobbyist and local demon lord. The blonde vampire had left behind her usual boots, denim and rhinestones for a business suit. For all that, her impressive bustline strained the red blazer, drawing looks from men and glares from women. Most of the people around her were actually people, but lesser demons and minions disguised as humans lounged around. There were no other vampires. Debbie didn’t tolerate them in Charlotte. It interfered with her ability to trade her favors for a “nip and a sip” and threatened her truce with the forces of light.
She sashayed to Bob’s office. A stunning woman sat at a desk before two huge, gold-colored doors guarded by goblins glamoured to look human. The secretary looked up with a professional smile. “Good evening, Ms. Middleton. Mr. Diablesse got your call and is expecting you.” The goblins swung open the doors.
“Debbie, sweetheart,” Bob boomed as he stood up from an elegant mahogany desk. To those without the sight, he appeared as an athletic, handsome, black-haired man. “How are you doing, baby?” He whisked around the desk and kissed her a bit too enthusiastically on both cheeks, squeezing the melons in the process. She got a whiff of sulfur and brimstone off the demon.
“Bob, you old devil,” she smiled with false warmth. “How’s it hanging?”
“Straight down and forked as usual. So what brings your blond bustiness my way this fine evening?”
“We have a mutual friend with some trouble,” Debbie said.
“I have a friend?” Bob said, putting a hand to his chest in mock surprise.
Debbie sighed. “Knock it off, Bob. Jeremy Leclerc is being audited by the Inquisition.”
Bob grimaced. “Hell, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, which incidentally, he is. But why tell me?”
“Jeremy, as you know, has been…accommodating for a Templar.”
“More to you than to me,” Bob said, leaning back against his desk.
“I don’t kill humans or turn them into vamps.”
“You just bang them into a sexual stupor.”
“Honey, you say that like it’s a bad thing,” Debbie returned. “My point is that if Jeremy fails and is replaced, we might draw one of these shave-pated fanatics who don’t see shades of gray.”
“Who won’t make deals,” Bob mused, his chin in his hand. “Yes. I see what you mean.”
“It might be a good thing,” Debbie added, “if evil took a holiday soon.”
Bob shrugged. “Makes sense, but I can’t do much about the free-lancers and out-of-towners."
“Course you can,” Debbie said. “You can decorate lampposts with their innards. Good for our friend and not bad for you either.”
“Hey,” Bob said brightly, “you’ve got a point there.”
Debbie rose. “Glad we could get together on this.”
Bob smiled more broadly. “As long as you’re here- why don’t we get together on something more fun?”
Debbie gave a neutral smile. “Sorry, Bob, but your blood doesn’t appeal to me and it might take me several weeks to recover from your idea of fun.”
“Another time perhaps.”
“Perhaps.” She backed toward the doors.
*****
Jeremy met Brother Esposito at the baggage level of Charlotte-Douglas airport the next morning. Esposito walked down the stairs, disdaining the ease of the escalator. Clad in brown robes and tonsured, he carried a staff and a small sack over his left shoulder. How he got the staff past security, Jeremy had no idea.
Esposito's face was pale and bony with intense dark eyes over an aquiline nose. Jeremy felt the weight of those eyes across the space. The inquisitor recognized Jeremy with a brief nod and strode over to him. People scattered from the monk’s path.
“Brother Leclerc,” Esposito said, his voice deep and pleasant.
“I prefer Jeremy, especially as my identity here is a secret.”
A chill seemed to roll off the inquisitor. “Would that it were the old days, when a Templar Knight would wear the Lord’s cross on his surcoat.”
“Would that it were,” Jeremy said. “Your bags?”
Esposito lifted the small sack on his shoulder. “All that I need is here.”
“Very well. This way.” The pair walked across to the parking deck and Jeremy’s black and white Mini.
“A sports car?” Esposito said.
Jeremy shrugged. “Costs the same as a Camry and is easier to park.”
“You have expansive views on the vow of poverty.”
“I have an identity to maintain as a graphic designer. No one hires a guy driving a heap.”
As they drove out of the garage, Jeremy began to wish he was facing demons instead what was supposed to be an ally. Esposito remained silent as they cut through traffic somehow broadcasting disapproval of Jeremy, the car and perhaps Charlotte itself.
When they arrived in South End, Jeremy led Esposito into his studio, which seemed rather more luxurious today. It held a kitchenette and a small bedroom sectioned off by bookshelves. Sam sat among the battery of screens and computers that made her look like a flight officer on the Starship Enterprise. She gave Esposito the look Kirk reserved for aliens due for a phaser lunch.
“My assistant, Samantha Pelton,” Jeremy said.
“Yes,” Esposito said, not offering to shake hands. “I read the report on the Mandrake demon incident she was involved in.”
“Since she knew about Shadowheart,” Jeremy said, “it seemed safe to bring her onto the team.”
Esposito looked at him. “Is she Catholic?”
“Hey, Cardinal Fang, you got any questions about me you can ask me directly, and no, I’m not.”
“For that matter, I’m not Catholic either,” Jeremy said. “I’m a Taoist.”
“Yet you claim to be paired with a guardian angel?” Esposito returned with a glare at Sam.
“I’m teamed with a powerful entity who tells me she is an angel,” Jeremy responded, sitting on a table next to a fuming Sam. “But you know that.”
“Really?” Esposito said.
Jeremy stared at him. “Surely the old Grandmaster told Rome? You’ve read my reports.”
“The Grandmaster said that you were paired with an angel but neither he nor anyone else ever saw it. As for your reports, many more plausible messengers than you have claimed to speak to or for God.”
“I saw her too,” Samantha added.
“Her?” Esposito’s eyebrows rose.
“Shadowheart appears female,” Jeremy said.
“So you say.”
“Call her, Jeremy. Show this sanctimonious-”
“Sam,” Jeremy interrupted.
“Yes, by all means,” Esposito said. “Call the angel.”
Jeremy felt a sinking feeling in his gut but he lowered his head and concentrated.
Shadowheart, he called into the void. Nothing came back. He put his hand over the cr
ystal and gold amulet he wore, which was Shadowheart’s ostensible home, but again there was no response.
“I see,” Esposito said.
“She’s a bit pissed at me,” Jeremy said, “feels I’ve been bending a few too many rules.”
“Then your imaginary friend and I have something in common.”
“She’s not imaginary,” Samantha said.
Esposito ignored her. “Pull your reports and dismiss your assistant. We can get a few hours work done before I head over to St. Peter’s and the company of the godly.”
A harsh rapping came from the door. Jeremy used it as a distraction. “Sam, would you get that, please?”
By the time Sam got to it, there was no one there. Only an old duffel bag lay outside. She picked it up and set it on a table. “Hey, there’s a note.” She unzipped the duffel, then leapt back. “Oh, yuck!”
Inside the duffel bag were eight heads, wrapped in plastic. Most were clearly demons or goblins. The human one bore a strange symbol on its forehead.
“The mark of the werewolf,” Jeremy said.
Esposito looked at Sam. “Please read the note.”
Sam glanced toward Jeremy, he nodded and she opened the expensive stationery.
“To Jeremy Leclerc,” she read. “Eight Heads in a Duffel Bag is an underrated movie and one of my favorites. Just a little tribute of our respect and fear of the mighty Templar warrior. Good luck on your audit. Those inquisitors are pricks. Kind regards, Bob.”
Jeremy groaned inside.
“What is the meaning of this?” Esposito demanded. “Who is this Bob and how does he know of my presence and your review?”
“Er,” Jeremy said, “Charlotte is kind of a small town. Diablesse is the local demon lord but he’s more of a corporate and financial hazard than a moral one.”
“And this?” Esposito gestured at the duffel.
“Bob’s kind of a film buff.”
“You’re on a first-name basis with the demon?” Esposito snapped.
Jeremy felt the leash he’d placed on his temper slip. “With Diablesse’s help, I was able to stop a coven of witches from destroying this town. I live here. Because disorganized, blood-sucking, flesh-tearing evil is more of a danger to the common person than organized evil, I make use of Diablesse when I need to.”
Esposito shook his head. “You make distinctions that don’t exist. There is only good and evil.”
“Maybe it seems that way in the Vatican, protected by 2,000 years of ritual and holiness, but out here in the real world, I’m one Templar in a thousand square miles. I don’t have such luxury. I have to pick my fights.”
Esposito stared coldly at him. “It seems to me that you have too much of both heresy and luxury.”
“Hey, Cardinal Fang,” Sam interjected. “Didja notice that evil is down eight players just because Jeremy is here.”
Esposito looked right through Sam. “Meaningless, doubtless just minions.”
Jeremy took Sam’s arm, feeling the tension in his friend that told him she wasn’t far from throwing a punch. “Come on, Sam. I’ll buy you dinner at Phat Burrito-the air is kind of thick in here.
“As for you,” Jeremy said, “my reports are on the desk. You can let yourself out and St. Peter’s is within walking distance.”
“Your attitude will be mentioned in Rome,” the Jesuit said with a thin smile.
“Come on, Sam.”
Sam gave Esposito a smoking glare but followed Jeremy out.
When they were outside, she couldn’t contain herself any longer. “Where the fuck does he get the nerve to judge you, after all you’ve done to help people? And when the hell is Shadowheart going to show up and straighten his ass out?”
Jeremy walked alongside her, pensive. “Sam, what if he’s right? What if I am making distinctions that aren’t real. What if I am trying to stay alive more than trying to do my job?”
He stopped and faced her. “What if I’m compromising too much? Where’s the line and what side of it am I on?”
This time she took his arm. “Look youngster, whatever side of the line you’re on- is the side I want to be on.”
Impulsively Jeremy hugged Sam. “Good to know.”
*****
Debbie Middleton got out of the Lincoln and smiled at the dazed teenager lying in the backseat with a grin on his face. She finished buttoning her blouse. “Thanks for the good time and the blood, honey.”
“Huh?” he said. His feet were propped up and a Gatorade was by his head. Two Band-Aids covered the throat wound.
“Never mind,” she said, as she walked off, enjoying the last tang of his blood on her lips. She’d enjoyed the rest too, typical teenage boy, hotter and faster than a pistol. Just as well. It gave her the whole evening and there was a concert at the Double Door she wanted to catch.
She cut between buildings, heading through an alley toward her pink VW. Human muggers never worried her. They formed that part of her diet that she didn’t have to get sexy over. Halfway up the alley she felt a chill up her spine, unusual for one of the living dead. Her eyes swept the alley, shadowed to humans but bright as day to her. Nothing, yet the sense of threat persisted. She stood as still as only the dead can and listened. Only the sounds of a city full of humans reached her. Debbie allowed her fangs to slide out.
A whisper of leather on stone warned her. Debbie leapt backward as a heavy body landed on the spot she’d vacated.
Debbie gave a hissing warning and drew herself up, facing the huge hairy figure that rose from its crouch. Yellow eyes glared at her over a face that was a twisted mix of wolf and man. A heavy musky smell wafted from the creature.
“You’re the vampire, Debbie Middleton,” he growled
“You’re old,” Debbie returned. “You can reason after the change, even speak. You still look mostly human. That takes time.”
“Yes,” the yellow eyes regarded her steadily.
Debbie knew the vampiric shimmer of her own eyes would have no effect on the creature before her. She thought about running, but the wolf would be as fleet of foot as she. As for strength, she could die if he tore her to pieces and the wolf feared little beyond silver and certain magics.
“I have lived for a long time,” the werewolf continued, “too long to suffer insults at the hands of your friend, Diablesse.”
“Demons don’t have friends,” Debbie said, buying time, “and I don’t answer to him.”
“Lies,” he growled. “You were seen there.”
“Hell, I didn’t say I didn’t know him. I said I don’t serve him.”
He considered. “I am Bora, from Kosovo. I chose this place for my new home. I journeyed with many and have “recruited” others. Diablesse has threatened me and mine and killed some. I judge him unworthy to represent Evil. He is too accommodating with those of the light, too soft. I intend to kill him. Join me.”
“I don’t do werewolves.”
Bora growled again. “Join me or die.” .
“You forget the soldiers of light,” Debbie threw back.
“What?” the werewolf paused.
“Diablesse leaves me alone because I’m under the protection of a Templar and a guardian angel.”
“Angel?” the wolf repeated, stepping back.
“Yes, a bad-ass bitch named Shadowheart, also known as the Witchbane. Lay a claw on me and you’ll see an angel, up close, personal and very briefly.” She held up her hand and a white stone glowed softly on her ring finger. Any creature of evil knew there was only one source for the glow, one meaning.
The werewolf watched her, perhaps suspecting she was stretching the truth but unable to chance an encounter with something as impossibly lethal as an angel.
Debbie pressed her advantage to continue in the direction of her car, walking with an assurance she did not feel. Relief flooded her as she gained the streetlight. She kissed off the idea of the Double Door. The night suddenly had teeth other than hers.
*****
After a quiet dinne
r at the funky burrito place, Jeremy left to deal with a sighting of a werewolf in Southern Charlotte. There’d been rumors of a new evil player moving into Charlotte and Jeremy was concerned about the increase in were activity.
After he left, Sam made her way back to the studio to close up for the evening. She was almost done when her cell buzzed. “Samantha here.”
“Debbie Middleton.”
“You have a cell phone?”
“Yes, dammit, and cable and a Jacuzzi. I don’t sleep in a coffin either.”
“Whoa, blonde and busty, what’s with the attitude?”
“Sorry, I got bounced by a werewolf and not in a good way.”
“There’s a good way?” Sam wondered.
“His name is Bora, he’s moving into Charlotte. Diablesse killed some of his minions.”
Sam remembered the human head in the duffel. “Yeah.”
“I think we may have been a bit responsible.”
“We?” Sam’s elegant eyebrow’s rose.
“You asked me to prevail on Diablesse to put evil on hold.”
“Yes?”
“That meant putting the fear of Diablesse into all the freelancers,” Debbie continued. “I’m afraid they decided to push back.”
“Oh great, I ask for help and you start a Satanic turf war!”
“Now you know what they mean by “‘No good deed goes unpunished.’”
“This is going to kill Jeremy,” Samantha groaned.
“Honey, it may kill all of us,” Debbie said and hung up.
Samantha sighed and finished locking up the studio. Thoughts rolled around her head about how to help Jeremy deal with the Inquisitor. She’d been unable to restrain tongue and temper around Esposito. Fundamentalists of any stripe frosted her pumpkin.
Samantha sighed. “Shadowheart, damn you. Where are you? Why aren’t you helping Jeremy?”
But the angel refused to manifest and put an end to the reign of terror. Samantha trudged back to her Subaru.
She was thinking so longingly about a quiet evening at home that she didn’t sense a shape till it was almost on her. A growl sounded in her ears. Sam jumped and swung her laptop bag. It slammed into the jaws of the creature that sprang at her from between parked cars. Samantha got a quick impression of bulk, hairiness and teeth along with an overwhelming smell of musk and heat, a physical representation of rage incarnate.
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