3. Conspiracies, Bread, and Butter

Nick paced the length of the suite, trying not to look into the prying eyes of Lopsang and James as they watched him from the couch. Every step brought lightning bolts of pain to various parts of his body, but he wrote it off as a simple complication of aging poorly. “Why wouldn’t Shirley take us with her? If they run into Red Death—”

“They’ll probably do better than we did last time,” answered Lopsang, his words heavy and sullen.

Nick gave a slight nod, acknowledging the failure, but trying to move quickly past it. “None of it makes sense, don’t either of you see that? What is The Baron’s endgame by creating a state of panic and fear in one of the few places he still holds power?”

James scratched at the stubble growing on his chin. “Shirley said it was some kind of a power play, right? Make others around the world acknowledge his presence?”

“Sure, yes, that’s one angle, but think about it.” Nick realized that he had begun to wave his hands and made his best effort to keep them still. On the one hand it made him look like a doomsday prophet, on the other, the pain of going a single round with an abomination was still very much present. “No one is ever going to let that narrative get out there, and the American public isn’t going to believe it.”

Lopsang shrugged. “This is what gods do, Nick. If people stop paying attention to them, they burn a city to the ground. Tale as old as time.”

“Correction, it’s what Gods did. Take Xolotl for example.”

Both James and Lopsang groaned audibly.

“I know, I said I’d stop bringing up the Land of the Dead, but damnit, it was a pretty fucking salient experience.”

“You don’t have too many of those, do you?” James stood and went to the bar to mix himself a drink.

“Piss off and make me one of whatever you’re having.” Nick continued pacing, ignoring the shooting pain in his legs. The truth was, movement felt better than sitting still, and nothing was making sense. “So, Xolotl lost favor as a god and ended up working the equivalent of doorman for the Land of the Dead, right?”

“Right,” agreed Lopsang. “But the second he saw an opportunity to regain his former position or power, he took it. Sure, it wasn’t burning down a city, but who knows, he used to shepherd the sun around, it’s not far off.”

Nick nodded. “Sure, but he had to be presented with the opportunity to regain power. Without that, he would have stayed in that job forever, because it was the best he could get.”

James threw ice cubes into a shaker along with a bright green mixture that was either vegetable-based or radioactive.

“That better not be a health drink!” The sudden fury in Nick’s voice surprised even him, but he detested anything that claimed wheatgrass as a primary ingredient. The pure act of drinking it would be an acknowledgment of his bad habits and a coalescence to a culture he couldn’t abide.

“Relax, I may have copied down some of Jimmy’s recipes the last time we were at The Haven.”

“He let you do that?”

“It’s amazing what happens when you don’t berate him constantly.” James tossed the shaker back in forth, clacking the ice cubes loudly.

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“I still don’t see your point, Nick.” Lopsang sat back in his chair. “So what?”

“So, who’s out there telling The Baron the grass is greener on the other side? He’s got it better than a lot of gods right about now. Voodoo culture, although commercialized for the most part, thrives in New Orleans. It’s become part of the city’s identity and isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

James poured the drinks and paused. “You think someone is manipulating the literal master of manipulation?”

“That would be a hell of a trick,” admitted Lopsang.

“You’d have to be very old, have a lot of unearned confidence, and no fear of death to try something like that.” Nick ran a hand through his hair, feeling the grease that had settled there. Should shower off the smell of minor coma later.

“Sounds almost like you, James.” Lopsang laughed and went to take one of the drinks off the counter.

James paid no attention. “Hey Nick, didn’t you go to see a vampire recently?”

“Who, Jackie?” Nick thought about it. Jackie certainly fit the bill, but he hadn’t killed them and that was saying a lot.

Lopsang recoiled. “First name basis with a vampire? James, I think we might be on the wrong side.”

“No need to be judgmental of an entire group of people because of their sunlight-related afflictions, Lopsang.” Not all vampires were bad, most were, ok almost all of them were, but it still wasn’t alright to stereotype. “What could Jackie have to gain? He seems to have a good thing going here as well.” Nick felt like there was some key detail he was glossing over. It came to him in a flash. “And, he hates the vampire Marie let loose. Why would he let that happen?”

James shrugged.

“What if they’re trying to form a coven?” asked Lopsang, his words beginning to slur together.

He’s becoming more like me every day. Nick filed the likeness away into problems he would deal with another time. “What do you know about covens, Lopsang?” There hadn’t been a true vampire coven in the United States for hundreds of years, and even that hadn’t lasted long. Generally, vampires tried to stay in smaller groups to avoid the sudden wrath of angry villagers.

“I know that one tried to form near my village. We hired someone and they put a stop to it.” Lopsang’s eyes were dark, clouded, living somewhere other than the present moment.

“Wait, you’re saying James and I weren’t the first monster hunters you hired? Who did you pay to take out the vampire coven?!” Nick’s momentary preoccupation with Lopsang’s sullen nature was briefly lost in the hot flame of jealousy.

Lopsang did his best to bury his face in his drink. “Manchester,” he whispered.

Nick scoffed. “Oh, great. Why didn’t you just hire him to take out the yeti too?”

“We were out of money after paying him to take out the vampires.”

James laughed. “I told you, Nick, we’re the budget agency.”

Nick struggled with insults to fit the rage in his chest and instead channeled them into pacing. “Alright, fine, well, ignoring that slight, if Jackie is trying to form a vampire coven, he’s lost his mind. If anyone got so much as a whiff of it, monster hunters would be down here in droves, all hoping to add a few fangs to their mantles.” Vampire fangs weren’t large, but they did look great on a necklace.

James set his drink down. “Unless they had some kind of distraction?”

“Like a gathering of the undead six blocks wide…” Could Jackie be making a play? “That son of a bitch brought us to brunch just to throw us off the scent. I should have known. Never trust a goddamned vampire.”

“Well, that’s a bit redundant and stereo—”

“Shut up, James, I know what it is. If we’re going to go toe to toe with Jackie, we’re going to need some supplies. Time to call on another old friend.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that when we’re surrounded by Sixth Side guards?”

James had a point. Nick had forgotten about the team of agents stationed in the hallway. Marie got out easily because Shirley wanted her to and was followed by a heavily armed Sixth Side escort. With Shirley gone, getting past the guards was a tricky prospect at best, and impossible at worst. Nick crossed the room to the balcony and walked out to look out over the edge. They were ten stories off the ground with nothing softer than the asphalt of a busy street below to catch their fall. Discouraging, but not entirely impossible. “James, how strong do you think our bedsheets are?”

“No,” said Lopsang and James in unison.

Nick recoiled. “Don’t do that, it’s eerie as shit. I’m sorry I’m the only one being helpful.” He paced the room, looking at the patterned wallpaper with disgust. “Alright, Plan B, how old do you think this hotel is?”