Saint Anne Street was still and quiet, though nowhere near as garroted with silence as Laveau’s place. And—surprise!—the badges still inconspicuously hung around on the opposite side of the street. This time, I noticed some posters on the walls behind them. Not bounties like I was used to. They all had the word MISSING in bold print.

Marie seemed unhappy to have those fellas milling about, which was understandable. What she’d hinted at—that things weren’t like they used to be—got me thinking. She and the others in Crescent—voodoo practitioners and traiteurs alike—had mostly kept to themselves. Hell, the Catholic healers wouldn’t even get involved unless they were petitioned to do so.

So, what did these boys want? What blame fell at Laveau’s feet to drive all her people away? Or had she simply grown old, complacent? Tired of fighting for her way of living. I contemplated striding over there and picking their brains—maybe spilling them. Wasn’t quite sure which fate they deserved yet. However, I didn’t figure they were going anywhere anytime soon. And for now, I needed some answers.

Marie’s little home was so close to her neighbor’s I’d wager they could hear each other snore. I ducked into the narrow alleyway and pulled out my small shaving mirror, ready to send a spiritual telegraph to the bane of my existence. I rolled the mirror around in my hand for a minute, wishing I could feel the smooth edges against my fingertips.

In truth, I was just preparing myself for what awaited me inside. I was where I’d been dispatched to be, which meant I’d be hunting something soon. Last time, in Revelation, that something turned out to be a tragedy. An enemy possessed by the demon Chekoketh, who didn’t deserve what came to him.

I sucked in a deep breath. My lungs might not have needed the air, but I needed the moment. Except no amount of hesitation would change anything. So, I flipped the mirror open.

For a second, it was just me staring back at myself. The exact face I’d worn twenty or so years ago when Ace Ryker shot me dead for sticking up for an eight-or-so-year-old Rosa and her mama.

“Oh, Shar,” I said in a cute little melody as I strolled. She hated the nickname, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Crowley, I see you’ve finally decided to stop playing hero.”

“It was on the way,” I said. “Besides, it’s not like I have the first clue why I’m here. So why rush?”

“You are here because the White Throne bids it so.”

“And that’s fine and well,” I said, “but since I’m aimless anyway, I figured a visit to an old friend wouldn’t hurt. Might even save a life.”

“For once, you’ve used that word correctly,” Shar said. “The Madame is, indeed, a friend to the Throne.”

“Was that something nice you just said?” I didn’t even try to hide the shock in my voice.

“Don’t mistake kindness for weakness, Crowley. Mortals like her are always a mere breath from using their secrets for ill means.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re all just a coin flip from madness. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, for once in my damned unlife, could you just tell me exactly where to go, so I don’t end up wandering?”

She spoke, but I didn’t hear it. My chest started burning fiercely. More with each step I took. That’s the bit of gratitude I get from the White Throne. They could’ve done anything: goose pimples, a ringing in my ears, but no, they chose searing pain on the chest of a man who otherwise can’t feel a damn thing. That burn is meant to inform me about the presence of a Hellish entity.

Something wicked this way comes.

And it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Hell’s minions to come after me. I’d pissed off someone powerful back in Revelation, after all.

“Hold on a second,” I said.

“Crowley, would you—”

I tucked Shar back into my duster and followed my instincts until I didn’t need to anymore. As I approached a cross alley enclosed by two brick buildings, I could hear it now as much as feel it. A wet sound, like a particularly vile person chowing down on smothered lamb chops—lips smacking, throat gurgling.

I peered around the corner, and the sight stopped me dead in my tracks. Its skin was the color of dried blood. I was unsure if it was due to natural pigmentation or years gone without a wash after its many meals. It was frail and nearly bald, just a few wisps of gray hair poking up from an otherwise smooth dome. I couldn’t see its face, though the pointed ears clued me in to what I was seeing.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Whoever that was beneath its fangs only had a precious few moments left on this side of the afterlife, so I acted on instinct and barreled around the corner.

When the vampire sensed company, it stopped.

Hunched over like a dog, its head whipped toward me, showing long, vicious fangs. Its eyes, like golden nuggets, glinted in the wan moonlight.

Thing to know about vampires—feral and uncivilized as they come—is they move in stuttering flickers. By some form of Hell’s power, their actions ain’t smooth like a human, though human they’d once been. This one moved so damned fast, I could hardly follow. And knowing how close by those marshals were, I figured I had only enough time for a shot before they’d come running. If I drew and missed, I’d lose any chance afforded to me.

It hissed. Such an unnatural sound, like no animal I’d ever heard. The blood in its throat rattled as the air passed, and it bolted upright. I’d tried to tell Bram that his hopes of discovering sentient, intelligent bloodsuckers were all for naught, but he wouldn’t listen. He was convinced Crescent City would conjure up some previously unknown version of this mindless beast.

I’ll give him one thing, though, it’s not often I happen on these things in the city. They prefer to live together in packs—or broods, as we call them. Caves, forest hollows—anywhere the occasional unsuspecting traveler might wind up and wouldn’t be missed. But here, in the middle of a crowded city?

They’re skittish like deer. To accentuate my point, the beast snarled and bolted before I could even draw iron.

“Get back here!” I took off after it, vaulting over the soon-to-be corpse that was its dinner.

I’ve got a lot of skills. Some came from hard knocks, some by the teaching of one Ace Ryker. Others still, a gift from my Heavenly benefactors. None of them include rooftop hijinks. So when the vampire skittered up a wall and onto a flat-roofed, one-story building, it gave me pause.

Some juice just ain’t worth the squeeze. However, being the ever-dutiful Hand of God I was, I ran, planted a foot on the sturdy brick wall opposite the building upon which my quarry was in full escape, and shoved off. I gained just enough height to wrap my fingertips around the eave.

Old as these buildings were, the shingles cracked under my weight. Dust fell, obscuring my vision. Finally, I managed to get an elbow over the top and proceeded to pull myself up. By the time I scrambled to my feet, the vampire had crossed two gaps and was heading north. I pursued, my Winchester free of my back scabbard and already taking aim.

As I said, if I were to open fire, I had to be damn sure I was gonna hit the thing. There was even more at stake now than alerting some harmless Federal thugs. Wouldn’t want a stray bullet losing steam and winding up in someone’s living room. Even with the inevitable slowdown, it could still pack enough punch to kill or maim.

I leaped to the next building, then the next, finding my footing despite the slickness of nighttime humidity that’d coated the shingles with dew. That sucker was fast, and worse, desperate to escape. But I had him in my sights.

I said I possessed skills. Shooting dead-eye was amongst those abilities. Even before I was resurrected, I could put a plum through a penny at a hundred yards. Thing is, pennies didn’t move like vampires.

Just as I was about to pull the trigger, someone below shouted, “Hey, get off there!”

Distracted, I turned my attention to a man waving some sort of makeshift club at me from the street. I put myself in his shoes, seeing a six-foot-two cowboy springing from roof to roof in the middle of the night. He must’ve thought I was crazy, drunk, or up to no good. More than likely, with my heavy boots and not-so-catlike graces, I looked all three.

I’d only glanced down at the screaming civilian for the briefest of moments, but when I looked up again, the vampire was nowhere to be found.

“Shit…”

“You get off my roof before I summon the marshal!” the man warned.

I gave one last frustrated glance at the clear horizon and groaned. “Alright, alright.”

Returning my rifle home, I carefully negotiated my way back down to street level. The man met me, and he was shouting again before my boots touched the dirt. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Relax, friend. You’ll wake the whole neighborhood.”

I noticed he was wearing his nightgown and a cute little hat—that was probably exactly what I’d done, stirred him out of bed to find out what manner of animal was thudding along his roof.

His face screwed up, and he looked like a cherry pit on fire. “You’d best give me a good reason not to have you arrested!”

I can be a real son of a bitch when needed, but I saw no value in treating this man with hostility. He’d been minding his own business when I rocked his home. Unlike Shar and the White Throne, I tended to empathize with that kind of thing.

“Just hunting a noisy owl,” I told him. “Guess I got a bit carried away. No need to get the law involved, friend. I’m going home. Lost it anyway.”

Might not have been owls I was chasing, but my words were true enough. I wouldn’t be causing this man any more distress this evening.

He huffed a bit, trying to find his words. “We like our owls just fine around here. Keeps the pests away. Seems they brought one tonight.”

“Heard and understood.” I tipped my hat. “Apologies again. Have yourself a fine night, sir.”

He set off, grumbling back into his cottage, yelling to his wife inside. I only caught the first few words before the door slammed shut. With all the hubbub over, it was quiet enough to hear a mouse piss on cotton.

I hurried back to the alley in hopes I might still be able to save a life even if I couldn’t guarantee that vampire wouldn’t claim another. The shaving mirror in my pocket rattled, but time was of the essence for that poor soul who’d found themselves at the sharp end of a set of fangs.

When I returned, I found something unexpected. I quickly spun away to make myself scarce when a voice rang out. “You there! Don’t you take another damn step.”

Rising from a squat beside the victim was a US Marshal with a port wine birthmark.