My eyes gathered all available light, adjusting to the dark, dank, dirty room.
“Hey, who dere?” An old Cajun man sat in the corner on a wicker chair, sporting a beard like Moses. And if cleanliness was next to godliness, this fellow was further gone than me.
“Out,” I demanded, pushing inside, and he looked at me like I had three heads. “I said get out!”
“I was here first,” the man argued. He curled up to the side and tucked his feet under a tattered rag.
I grunted. His problem, then. He’d be another distraction if anybody broke in, but considering his drunken eyes were looking at two sides of the same room, his presence wouldn’t affect me.
“Your funeral,” I told him as I set up the stairs, hauling Tourmaline over my shoulder. She tossed and turned now, throwing a fit now that the sun wasn’t a threat.
“Hey,” the drunk said, starting to rise. “Whatchu got there?”
As I ignored him, he lost heart fast enough and settled back on the chair. Once upstairs, I checked all the bedrooms. No more vagrants. Nothing but spiders and cobwebs. This would do. I brought Tourmaline to the master suite and dumped her in the center of the floor.
“Don’t move,” I said, though I don’t think she found it funny.
She shouted something I couldn’t understand, what with the gag and the mat between us.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, then moved to the windows. They were caked with dust. Using my muddy sleeve, I managed to smear it worse, but I had a street view. Laveau’s cottage sat caddy-corner to my right. Timp was slurping on water out of the trough. Marie stood on the porch, her front door wide open. She watched the old girl quizzically, probably wondering how she’d run off and returned without me in sight.
I turned back to Tourmaline, walked over, and ripped the mat off her. Her eyes glared fire my way. Something deep down told me I should cut down this snake before it could coil and strike, but she was still useful to me.
I cautiously removed the gag but kept her bound, tossing the loose end of the lasso around a low rafter. After a bit of work, I had her suspended upright. She dangled half a foot off the floorboards.
Once she was secure, I positioned my knife below her, hilt jammed between slats. This way, if she did break free and fall, silver would slow her.
“Now, this is just undignified,” she said, spitting and scraping her tongue with her fangs to get the fibers off.
“I saw how you handle yourself,” I said. “I ain’t taking risks.”
She sighed. “I suppose I wouldn’t either. Though I am curious what your plan is.”
“Ever go fishing, Tourmaline?”
“So that’s it, huh? I’m bait? Here I thought I was worth more than that.”
“The tastier the worm, the bigger the fish.” I returned to the window. Marie was back inside, hopefully finishing with returning Bram back into the world of the living.
Tourmaline laughed. “You’re wasting your time, Hamsa. My maker is not here. He hates the so-called ‘free world.’ Lacks vision for a future out of shadows.”
“You’re gonna have to forgive me for taking your words with a grain of salt. And if your hairy lover comes first, this time, I’ll put a silver slug right between his eyes. I promise you that.”
She stared at me blankly. “Is that supposed to affect me, child?” I noted the way she said that. Just like Shar always did. Condescending bitch. “You know how many men have fawned over me throughout the centuries? Rouge is a… welcome distraction. But I think I’ve found someone more worthy of my talents.” She winked.
Though she couldn’t be trusted, I didn’t doubt her one bit about fawning men. All her burns were healed now, and, as she hung there, flesh exposed, and memories of my Divining still fresh in my mind, she was positively beautiful. Not just gorgeous but radiant… mystical. The surface-level part of my brain responsible for more banal emotions roared with need. Her raven-dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall in the middle of the desert. If I hadn’t been a Hand of God, my body would have been right there too.
That made me wonder if she was telling the truth about being able to bring pleasure to a Black Badge. It wasn’t because of some ultra-religious compulsion to be pure or holy. Being undead, or no longer dead—re-living, I simply can’t enjoy those behaviors anymore, much as I may want to. Which just leads to frustration.
And that’s when I recognized what she was doing. “Flirting ain’t gonna work on me.”
She clicked her teeth. “Quel dommage. You do look like fun.”
“Cut the shit, Tourmaline. How about I tell those nice marshals that’ve been dancing around town that it was you who killed the senator?”
That caught her tongue. It was a relative shot in the dark based on circumstantial evidence, but her reaction was all I needed. Man, if only Pinkertons existed when I was younger, I could’ve excelled. Or if I’d had a sense of the law. Sheriff Crowley. Has a nice ring to it compared to Black Badge.
“Thought so,” I said. “He wanted a good time, and things got a little too rough, huh? Or maybe you got too lazy to do your homework and didn’t realize who he was. You still have the body, or did you send it floating?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said through her fangs.
“Sure, the hangman’s noose would never get you, but I reckon you wouldn’t have spent as much time building the club you’ve got here if you didn’t care about the place.”
“Jeune homme,” she spat. “I stood by while Joan of Arc burned. Watched Napoleon’s rise and fall. Do you think this foul toilet of a city matters to me?”
“I think you’ve finally found a place that embraces the weird enough where you and others can hide in plain sight. Feed your vices. Live however you want to.” She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “I don’t fault you for it. What you do is monstrous, but I’ve seen plenty worse. So, here’s the deal, plain and simple. If your maker comes for you, help me kill him, and me and my kind won’t trouble you any further.”
She chuckled. “You do not speak for the White Throne, Hamsa. You lack the authority to make that promise.”
She was right, but she didn’t have to know that. One problem at a time. “My lips to God’s ears, I can.”
At that, her brow furrowed. “You really don’t know what we are, do you? What it is that you’re so fervently hunting?”
My chest had been burning so long, I’d forgotten about it. But the question brought it to the forefront of my mind. “A perversion. Some unholy spawn of things Hellish and mortal like any other Nephilim. But more importantly, a killer of those who don’t deserve it.”
A sick smile splayed across her face. As stunning as she was, this was nothing pretty. “Now, this is interesting. I suppose I didn’t know either, but it has been quite a long time. Memory fades after seeing more wars than you can count on your fingers.”
I stepped toward her. Even suspended by my lasso, our eyes were level.
“Know what?”
“I shouldn’t spoil the fun. I’ll let you revel in the discovery. As for your offer, mets-le dans ton cul.”
I sighed. “And that means?”
“Shove it up your ass.”
“Cute.”
“I may not care for my maker, but I won’t aid you. Not even the Devil himself could kill him.”
“You might know the devil, lady, but you don’t know me.”
“Such false confidence.” Her laugh chided me. “Even your angel must have given up on you to send you on such a mission. It’s futile, child. I know it. They know it. Only you are left to acknowledge it.”
“Enough.” I pulled out the dirty rag I used to clean my guns and stuffed it in her mouth. “When he comes, you can join him.”
She stared at me as I moved to the window and relaxed. Her gaze never left—I could feel it burning the back of my skull. I loaded my pistols with silver bullets. A couple of guns against a vampire lady and whatever else. Not the best.
While I had time, I went to the staircase and snapped spindles off the railing.
“Let me borrow this.” Sitting cross-legged right in front of Tourmaline, taunting her, I used my knife to carve the ends into sharp spikes. Still, she stared. I was able to stuff six of them in my belt at the small of my back and spread the others throughout the room before returning the knife to below her.
Like back in the fighting pit, a stake through the heart kills a vampire. They’d kill a werewolf just as well, or at least adequately maim them.
Sitting in the corner, I bided my time, a lesson learned by someone who had far too much of it.
Finally, night fell. Dogs barked. Sounds of taverns opening to the rabble and drunkards stumbling around. That same awful music I’d heard with Roo echoed from far off.
Cities have too many sounds for my taste. I’ll always prefer the still quiet of the West.
The window creaked.
I was back-against-the-wall, beside it in an instant. Someone climbed through, and I grabbed them by the hair, flipping them onto their back and ready for my Peacemaker to make peace.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Jesus, feck, Crowley!” Irish had her hands up. “It’s me.”
I didn’t avert my aim. “What are you doing here?”
She leaned into the barrel, forcing herself upright with no fear of me shooting her. “Heard a familiar voice yammerin’ up here on our way home. Don’t ye worry, I didn’t tell the others.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Ye got a bed back there. Why are ye here—” The word caught as she must’ve noticed my guest. There were no candles lit, just a bit of moonlight, but it was enough to see Tourmaline all tied up, eyes closed, and chin against her chest.
“This ain’t what it looks like,” I defended myself, unsure why I cared about the opinions of a loon from across the pond.
She shrugged. “Hey, I’m not one to be judgin’. Yer business is yers.”
She sauntered over to Tourmaline and poked the vampire between the eyes. Tourmaline’s eyes snapped open. She hissed into the rag. If Irish was even slightly taken aback, her actions betrayed none of it.
“Deadly lookin’ thing, her.” She peered back at me nonchalantly. “Need me to bump her off?”
“No. I need you to leave.”
Irish shook her head slowly. “Ye know how borin’ it is waitin’ for a man to get better? And Rosa wouldn’t even go for a piss-up with me. Just wanted to go searchin’ for strange shit for Laveau. I just wanted one drink. Maybe three. I’m needin’ to live. Gotta feel somethin’, and this looks a right festival.”
I took her by the arm and led her to the window. “Irish, you can’t be here.”
“Blah blah. I ain’t intendin’ to stay. I’m here for yer girlfriend.”
Hearing that, I let go.
“What happened?” I demanded.
“Nothin’.”
“Goddammit, Irish. Quit with the song and dance and tell me what’s wrong.”
“She’s after somethin’, Rosa. Somethin’ I ain’t sure’s possible, but you seem to know a bit about impossible things. Things I ain’t fond of triflin’ with. Ye know her more than I. It’s dangerous, wrastlin’ with the dead. Ye should be helpin’ her, not me.”
I exhaled through clenched teeth. “She already knows how I feel about chasing ghosts.”
“Then ye better talk sense into her before she does somethin’ thick. We got words fer ladies like Laveau where I come from. Don’t trust ’em. Not a lightly poured ounce.”
I pulled Irish away a bit. “You can’t stop her?”
Irish smirked. “I like doin’ thick things. I can tell she don’t. To her, this ain’t so stupid. So, why won’t ye help her say goodbye? It ’cause ye really are rosy for her, Crowley? Ye don’t wanna share?”
My hand shot out, clutching her by her jaw. Words didn’t come. I simply squeezed and glowered. Irish didn’t fight back.
“Quit pussy-footin’ then,” she squeezed out.
“What do you even care about any of this?” I asked.
“I had a fella once, ye know. Married we was. Weren’t much to look at, but I loved him at a time. Then he got hold of a bottle. Liked to grab me, like ye are now.”
I let her go, my gaze falling to the ground.
“Got off on hittin’ me. Loved usin’ a belt to show me my place. Prolly had li’l ones by more’n half the ladies in town. One night, he comes staggerin’ in, langers drunk and in a right funk. I could tell he was lookin’ for a scuffle, so I gutted him. Watched his insides paint the whole feckin’ floor before packin’ a bag, and I left.”
Irish looked over at the vampire, but only for a moment before returning her eyes to me. “Rosa… She ought to have somethin’ better.”
I took a step back, letting the weight I was carrying but couldn’t feel rest against the wall. I shook my head. “Rosa had that already. Some miracles only come once. And I’m—”
“Crowley!” a deep voice shouted from outside. “James Crowley, come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Pushing Irish aside, I darted to the window and peered out. Roo’s carriage sat in the road outside of Laveau’s, driven by a different kid holding a torch. From my vantage, I could see Roo’s wolf snout sticking out between the curtains, facing Laveau’s.
“Feck’s he?” Irish asked, squeezing her way beside me.
“You took someone from me, Crowley!” Roo yelled. “Someone that means a lot.”
“That voice,” Irish said. “Ain’t that yer friend from earlier?”
“We ain’t friends,” I said, then, under my breath, grumbled, “I don’t have time for this.”
Damn Rosa for mentioning Laveau’s name and giving that bastard a lead. I’d honestly forgotten, what with finding that Hell club and giant turtle monsters. But this was why I couldn’t have her involved in these things.
“Should I kill him?” Irish asked, licking her lips. “C’mon, lemme gut him.”
I barred her with one arm and set my pistol along the sill to steady my aim. Then, I let her rip. The silver round sliced through the canvas, hitting Roo in the flank. He roared, flailing enough to tear through the curtains and fall out into the street. Pedestrians screamed and fled the sound of the gunshot.
“Drop your weapon!” the marshal ordered, running out of a nearby building with three others. Looked like they’d been on a stakeout as well. “On the ground.”
The marshals closed in on him, yelling at all bystanders to leave the area. Silver steaming from the wound, Roo’s fists pounded into the stone as he pushed off and up. I almost heard the marshals piss themselves as he rose, a tremendous half-man beast. His growl practically made the window vibrate.
“M-m-monster!” the youngest of the marshals screamed and started firing off at random.
The one with the port-colored birthmark had enough wits about him to yell for the kid to stop before he killed someone. Luckily, one of his bullets struck Roo in the shoulder. Unluckily for them, it was barely more than a mosquito bite to a werewolf.
I glanced over at Tourmaline, who was absolutely gleeful. He must have really had a thing for this vampire seductress, exposing himself like this.
The kid in the carriage snapped the reins, taking off without Roo. Some bit of loyalty there. Before he got far, Roo grabbed it by the back wheel. The whole wagon came to a halt, and everything else seemed to slow down. With a tremendous roar and display of strength, Roo whipped the carriage around and flung it across the road at the lawmen. One—the trigger-happy guy—was crushed. The others dove, barely finding safety.
“Rougarou, how dare you show your true self here like this!” Marie Laveau shouted as she threw open the front door. “Be gone!”
Roo stood upright, not even the slightest bit of concern that he was surrounded. “James Crowley! He in there?”
“He is not,” Marie said calmly. Damballah, her snake, raised its head and hissed.
“You!” He looked past Marie to Rosa, standing just behind her. I watched her eyes go wide with dread. Sure, she’d seen bizarre things, but nothing like a drooling were-beast. “Tell me where he is.”
“We gotta get down there,” Irish said to me.
I kept my arm in place, sealing Irish off from hopping down and blowing my cover. Seeing Rosa in danger brought back too many painful memories, but I couldn’t abandon the post.
“You will leave or consider our truce over,” Laveau said, stomping forward.
“Truce,” he growled. “Your days are done, you old relic.”
“Old?” Laveau’s face contorted with anger in a way I didn’t think her gentle soul allowed. She pulled a vial out of her satchel and spilled its contents over her front porch. Her lips moved with words I couldn’t hear, then she blew a kiss. In an instant, the ground in front of her house went up in white-hot flame.
Roo leaped out of the way. As he did, the remaining marshals found their footing and shot at him while they sought cover.
“Get her!” Roo ordered.
He wasn’t alone, apparently. Shadows dashed across rooftops, moving on all fours. His pack, big ones and small ones too.
“Feck out the way, Crowley. I ain’t standin’ around any longer!” Irish bit into my arm hard to get me to move. She must’ve had quite the shock when I didn’t react. Then, when she tasted no blood, her brow furrowed. She grasped my pistol. I elbowed her in the chin. She staggered back, and as I turned, I saw eyes glinting in the darkness of the stairwell.
“Irish, down!”
Young, feral vampires snuck up the stairs behind me to free their maker. Rosa, Irish… all the humans I couldn’t kick from my life had distracted me. One more second and Tourmaline would’ve been free.
The vamps bore their fangs and hissed. I didn’t hesitate. Hurdling over Irish, I put a silver bullet through the head of the one nearest Tourmaline. They were quick but nowhere near as fast as their maker.
She watched calmly as I slid, grasping one of my handmade stakes and plunging it through the chest of another hard enough to send him flipping down the stairs. Like dominos, they tumbled backward, landing in a writhing heap at the bottom. Idly, my mind drifted to that poor drunk downstairs. Could only imagine the shape he was in.
As I brought my revolver up to plug one of the vicious devils, another rammed me from the side, and we smacked into the wall. The sucker was huge, and he was on me like flies on shit, swiping and biting—and predictable. Problem with beings of this size, they never really had to learn to fight. They used their size to intimidate and manhandle. But after facing Otaktay the Yeti, I was less than worried.
When he went left, I struck right. His clawed fist came around, forcing me to duck. While down there, I unleashed a salvo of punches and covered him with a score of nasty bruises—fat good they would do.
The back of his fist hit me hard.
Thing about striking wildly is if you can send enough blows, eventually, those chaotic movements pay off.
I went stumbling, toppling over something I couldn’t see. When I came to a stop on my hands and knees, two things happened. One, my arm slipped on a pool of blood, sliding out underneath me. And two, my knife broke from my grip.
Scrambling to get into a position where I could pull up my handgun, a swift kick to my midsection stopped the action. I suppose he hoped to knock the wind out of me, but shame on him for not knowing I had none in me to begin with.
I turned, fell to my back and hip-fired. A .45 caliber cartridge exploded from my barrel and buried itself right between the brute’s eyes. Then he was no more—just a cloud of fiery dust.
“Crowley, what are these th—”
A scratching, wrenching sound issued above, and a second later, the ceiling crumbled as another vamp fell through. I spun just in time to watch two fleshy hands wrap around Irish’s throat. Saliva dripped from gnashing fangs. Irish screamed and unloaded both her pistols into its stomach. There was enough force to knock it off her, but those plums weren’t silver. I gripped a stake from my belt and tossed it to her. The vampire rose for a second attempt, and she used its momentum to spear it through the heart.
Then, with a screaming hiss that rose above the range of human hearing, its skin sloughed off, the black, stringy muscles and bones showing through before it erupted into a plume of ash.
“Hell’s feckin’ bells, Bram was right!” she exclaimed, and I couldn’t tell if she was terrified or excited. “Them things’re real.”
She looked to me, and we exchanged a brief nod. What else was there to say, with proof staring her right in the face.
From behind, a nightstalker screeched and leaped at me like a grunch on wild shrooms, swinging a stake of its own. I whirled, parrying the blow with my pistol. I hated being on the defensive. Irish strafed beside us, unloading round after useless round into the vamp. Just mere flesh wounds.
Outside was more screaming and gunshots. The sound of flesh rending.
Rosa…
Marie was more powerful than she let on, but so was a pissed-off werewolf.
“Irish, I have them!” I yelled. “You get down there.”
Without hesitation, Irish took off toward the window. Her boot struck the sill, but she was met by a vampire swinging through. Its bare, taloned feet hit her in the chest, and she careened across the room into the wall.
What came next was chaos.
Three more of the beasts followed. I fired, putting one down immediately. Then I turned toward Irish. An unhinged jaw lurched for her, but to her credit, she was scrappy and held it away.
“Irish!” I tried to help, but I was surrounded. The remaining bullet cases from my left pistol hit the floor, their former inhabitants taking down at least two more vampires in their destructive wake. But it wasn’t enough. One grabbed hold of me, rooting me in place. We grappled, me being unable to get a good angle with my Peacemaker.
Beyond the biting of my combatant, Irish ripped a shred of wood off the wall and stabbed madly. Blood sprayed in a wide arc, turning her clothes and face crimson. Her scream was primeval—a mixture of rage, confusion, and fear. Like it or not, she was meeting, face-to-face, the creatures her boss had long spoken of. It was a wonder to see, even in the little snippets I’d been afforded. A human—no experience fighting Nephilim or demons—and she was kicking ass. She just kept stabbing, driving the vampire back.
I yanked my right hand free and fired a slug through the soft skin beneath its jaw. Silver, steam, and brain matter spewed up through the top of its dome.
Too late.
Through the cloud of ash, I could see Irish and her vamp hit Tourmaline hard enough to cause her to swing. Loosened by the collapsed rooftop, the beam she was attached to fractured and snapped. Tourmaline dropped, and with her position shifted, thanks to Irish, my silver knife missed her chest and only sliced deep through her thigh. She wailed in agony.
I lunged to scoop up the knife and attack, but the blade stopped inches from her chest when her hand shot out and clutched me by the neck with such raw power, all my momentum stopped. She pivoted to me, eyes burning yellow with rage.
Irish reared back and batted Tourmaline in the head with another stake. Poor girl didn’t have a clue. If only she knew how to properly kill them. The wood snapped, and Tourmaline didn’t even budge.
“Tragic,” she spat. “Aurait fait une bonne pute.”
With the flick of her wrist, the back of Tourmaline’s hand collided with my chest and sent me soaring bodily toward the window. I snagged the sill before crashing all the way through. Hanging there, struggling to pull myself up, all I could do was watch as Irish gawked at the broken stake.
Leg still steaming from my silver-dusted knife, Tourmaline hobbled forward. She grabbed Irish by her longer-than-normal red hair, yanked her down to her hunched-over level, and plunged needle-sharp teeth into the side of her neck.
Irish’s eyes rolled back as—unlike in my vision—Tourmaline didn’t take her time to savor her. The last thing I saw before the sill snapped free and I dropped to St. Anne’s Street was the spray of red as her fangs tore free.
Irish fell as I did, throat shredded. I didn’t even see her hit the ground.