Face Behind the Mask

by Leo King

  “And it worked out so well,” she said sarcastically.

  “Your possession worked a little too well. I never intended for a petro loa to enter you. But one did. And you know the rest of the story.”

  “So you thought you could help the world, and you ended up making it worse.” It was amazing that someone supposedly so wise could make such a miscalculation about human nature. “OK, so I get all that, but those years of persecuting Edward and hating me personally. What was up with that?”

  With a grunt, he said, “Edward, my grandson, hung out with the Marcellos, a crime family, and that was bad news all around. He wouldn’t listen to any of my warnings, so I used the law to scare him straight. And if you recall, it worked.”

  She nodded, hating to admit that he was right.

  “As for you? I never really hated you. But when the new Bourbon Street Ripper stuff began, I suspected that the loa inside of you had made you a killer. It wasn’t until your fight with Blind Moses at the wharf that I knew you were innocent. You see, Marinette was so affected by Dr. Klein’s drugs that she only attacked in self-defense. When I realized that, I made sure Rodger, Michael, and even Dixie did whatever they could to find the real killer.”

  Despite his rationale, she still wanted to make sure he was telling the truth. “What you’re saying makes sense. But it all hinges on you being Louis Castille. Can you prove it? Can you prove you’re my grandfather?”

  His expression was thoughtful for a few seconds. Then he said, “I have an idea. Hold out the silver pen.”

  “What?”

  “No living person can recognize me. But the dead can. Vincent will know who I am.”

  With a sigh and feeling more than a little sick to her stomach, she popped open the container and took out the pen.

  “Hello, Sam,” Vincent said.

  She held it out to Ouellette, frowning and unsure of what to expect.

  As soon as he touched it, her vision tunneled in, and suddenly, she was standing in unending blackness. On one side of her was Ouellette, still in his Priory robe. On the other side was Vincent, dressed in the top hat and tails of Baron Samedi.

  Vincent’s eyes fell upon Ouellette. He snickered. “Hello, Father. Playing your trump card?”

  “Hello, Son,” Ouellette said weakly.

  Sam glowered at her father. “Vincent, you knew who Ouellette was this entire time and didn’t tell me?”

  “A good card player never reveals his hand, my Queen,” Vincent said with a catlike grin.

  The muscles in her jaw tightened. My whole family, from start to finish, are pricks.

  “So you see, Sam,” Ouellette said, “I’m not lying. It’s time we work together and end the nightmare my son has started.”

  “Sam, Daughter,” Vincent said. “Are you honestly going to side with this bastard? Because of him, all this happened. I know you hate me, but you should hate him even more.”

  She opened her eyes, glaring at them both. “You two… make me sick.”

  First she pointed at Ouellette. “You made some really bad choices, Louis. Awful ones. But instead of making better ones to fix it, you continued to make bad ones. Your regret and guilt have ruined innumerable lives.”

  Then she pointed at Vincent. “And you… oh, you. You’re just plain twisted. Torturing and murdering others and then damning me to live forever. The side effects of your ritual alone will continue to cause harm for years to come.”

  Finally, she looked at them both. “It’s hard to decide which of you I hate more. If this is the Castille family legacy, then maybe it’s best the line ends here.”

  Ouellette said, “Sam, I deserve to die for what I’ve done. And you cannot die until Vincent is destroyed. Let’s end this together. Let’s obliterate the Castille family and then die in peace. I agree. Let’s wipe out the family line.”

  Vincent snorted. “Or you could just kill this no-account father of mine. Do that and I’ll leave you alone. The real fun is on this side of the pond now, anyway.”

  “Do you see what I mean?” Ouellette asked with more urgency. “Vincent has no conscience. Death only made him worse. We need to destroy him. With two pact-holders, the battle will be short and decisive!”

  Throwing his head back and laughing, Vincent said, “Of course! Pay attention to the man whose master plan included remarrying some tramp in Houma and spitting out a kid who drowned on his own birthday. Good strategy, Papa!”

  “Jason was a son I could be proud of!” Ouellette exclaimed.

  Vincent rolled his eyes. “And now we get to the real issue.”

  “Shut up!” Sam’s face burned. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

  When both men stopped, she took a deep breath. Then she said, “This is not some family therapy session. You two are bickering like children. All three of us are gods, and this situation is killing countless innocent people. You two are so out of touch with reality, it’s disgusting!”

  She glared at Ouellette. “I am not killing my babies. That is not negotiable. I am sorry you had to execute your son, but frying the Bourbon Street Ripper and killing two little children is about as different as you can get.”

  Then she glared at Vincent. “And I haven’t forgotten you. First, I will destroy the pen and cut you off from this world, and then I will find another way to get to the crossroads and obliterate you. I’m immortal and can’t die, asshole. I can wait a long time.”

  Pushing out the mountain of stress she had been accumulating, she said, “I’m done with you both.”

  Leaning toward her, his eyes glowing like fire, Vincent spoke in an enraged, low voice. “Now you listen to me, you ungrateful little shit. I am now the loa king, and I will always know where you are, because you are the loa queen. So if you break the pen, I will find a way to kill everyone around you that you care for. The detective you love so much? It better be a long-distance relationship, because as soon as I sense him near you, he’s dead.”

  “And you’re too late, Sam,” Ouellette said, also glaring at her. “I’ve already had Alexia LeBlanc possessed. She’ll be killing your children any second now. So we’re doing this ritual whether you like it or not.”

  “Nope and nope,” Vincent said with a sneer. “The LeBlanc girl broke free and tore your spirits up. She and the detective are taking my grandkids upstairs right now.”

  Ouellette drew back. “What?”

  “Vincent, my children are alive?” Sam felt her heart skip a beat.

  “Yes, they are,” he said. “See? I want the children to live, too, Sam. That’s why we should join—”

  “Oh, go to hell!” She let go of the pen, her vision returning to normal. She then jumped and kicked Ouellette in the chest. It felt like slow-motion as he flew back, the pen spinning through the air. With a quick snap, she caught it in the container.

  Thunder crashed loudly in the distance.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Ouellette said, getting back on his feet. “Even if you destroy the pen, all you’re doing is delaying a future disaster. Unless Vincent is destroyed, the dead of the voodoo pantheon will be unable to move on. Sooner or later, all that energy will break into our world. Do you know the chaos that will cause?”

  “And when that happens, I’ll figure out something else!” she shouted.

  “You don’t get to make that decision!” he bellowed back. “I know it’s a raw deal for those kids, but they have to die for this to be over, to stop millions or even billions from dying. I’m sorry, but that’s life—unfair and cruel. Oftentimes, the evils brought about by the parents are cleansed by the blood of their offspring.”

  Securing the container, she got into a fighting position. “The sins of the father are visited on the children?” Baring her fangs at him once more, she said, “What a load of shit.”

  “So we’re really going to do this?” he asked. The dust around him, glittering with shards of glass, started to rise.

  “I refuse to believe the rules of this world are so strict that
there isn’t another way to save it. Therefore, Grandfather, the only way you’re getting this pen or my children is over my impossible-to-kill body.”

  He growled and, in one motion, ripped off his robe, revealing a black SWAT uniform underneath. Almost at once, his body started to glow, arcs of energy crackling around him. His eyes began to flare, and the air around him heated up. The ground at his feet crushed into a small crater as the debris continued floating upwards.

  “So be it, Granddaughter,” he said. The aura of strength coming from him was immense.

  He’s… so… powerful.

  Casting aside all regret, she activated her power as well. Her muscles tightened, energy crackled, a glow surrounded her, and time began to slow down. She could feel the difference in power between them. The odds were definitely in his favor.

  No matter. For my children, I have to beat him.

  The crashes of thunder drew closer. A storm was almost upon them.

  Roaring, Ouellette flew at her with a punch. She did the same, and their fists collided in the center of the room. A shockwave from the impact flew out, turning the pillars around them to dust. The walls crumbled like cards.

  Sam’s muscles ached and burned and then gave way—he was just too strong. As her arm gave out, his fist connected with her jaw, her vision exploding into starbursts. She stumbled as he punched her in the stomach several times, and then with a second roar, hit her with an uppercut hard enough to send her through the ceiling. She cried out as she flew through several stories of the rig, landing limply on the surface.

  That freaking hurt! She spat up some blood as her vision returned. The SWAT helicopters were just taking off. In the distance, roiling storm clouds were rapidly approaching.

  “Sam!”

  She glanced toward one of the helicopters. Aucoin and Alexia were seated inside. Both were holding slumbering toddlers—her children.

  “Kyle! Get out of here, it’s—“

  The ground besides her exploded as Ouellette burst forth, landing a few feet away. As he stood there, cracking his neck, his eyes fell upon the children.

  “Damn you, Ouellette!” Aucoin yelled. “I knew you were trouble!”

  Ouellette tightened his fists. “Give me those kids!”

  The ground around his feet cracked as he rushed at the helicopter, moving like a blur. Bellowing, “No!” Sam, again, focused her power until time slowed to a crawl. He was still moving quickly. Concentrating on her children, she sprinted at Ouellette and caught him just a few yards away from them.

  Time returned to normal as she grabbed his arms, struggling to restrain him in a full nelson. “You will not touch them!”

  “Sam, hold him!” Aucoin lay down Eugene and aimed his gun at Ouellette.

  “No, Kyle, that won’t—”

  But then Aucoin fired every shot at Ouellette, who threw her to the ground and then dodged each bullet with the speed of a viper. He even caught the last one and threw it back. It struck Aucoin’s gun, sending it flying out into the darkness.

  Aucoin pulled his hand back, his fingers singed. “Son of a bitch!”

  “Kyle!” she cried. Flipping up, she donkey-kicked Ouellette hard enough to send him stumbling. “Kyle, Alexia! Get out of here! He’s fused, like me. You don’t stand a chance.”

  Aucoin’s face was pained. “Sam, I…”

  “She’s right,” Alexia said. “We need to go, now!”

  The helicopter roared to life as Aucoin tried to yell something. Sam couldn’t hear him, however, so, with an exasperated look, he threw her an oversized handgun. It was Perdition, Victor’s weapon. Is Big V dead?

  As the helicopter took off, she heard Ouellette charging. With a yell, he leapt toward the helicopter’s railing.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” She jumped after him and grabbed his feet. They both crashed upon the rig’s surface as the helicopter flew out over the water. For the moment, the children were safe.

  Thunder exploded all around them. Above, the boiling, black clouds, dotted with repeated lightning strikes, had formed a rotating tempest.

  “Get off me!” Ouellette kicked her in the face so hard, she slid back, her nose breaking.

  Getting up, she holstered Perdition and popped her nose back in place.

  He raged toward her.

  Taking out both of her .45 automatics, she said, “Dodge this.” She then fired both at once, focusing so that every shot aimed straight for his heart. Again, the world almost moved in slow motion as he whipped out a combat knife and knocked every single one of them aside. By the time he reached her, her clips were empty.

  Standing a mere foot away, he just puffed up his chest. That made her even angrier. She threw one gun at him, then the other, both bouncing off. When he started chuckling, she slapped him across the face so hard, she felt something crack in his mouth. Spitting out a few teeth, he then hit her in the forehead with the butt of his knife.

  “You’re making a fool of yourself,” he said.

  As she stumbled to the side, a nightmarish howl ripped through the night air.

  “What the hell is this?” Ouellette asked.

  The air turned cold, and a foul smell arose. Recovering from the strike, Sam looked around. She knew what it was. “It’s Vincent! He’s sending the loa here!”

  Ouellette tensed up. “Which ones?”

  From the center of the tempest, countless specks started falling, each one wailing and screeching in misery and rage. Alligators with human hands for feet and crawfish claws, skeletons with dozens of arms and legs, even hooded figures with glowing eyes—those and more fell upon them.

  She gritted her teeth. “Looks like all of them.”

  A moment later, the loa were upon them. She punched and kicked, every strike crackling with white energy that reduced them to black dust. Claws tore at her legs, fangs sank into her shoulders, and daggers stabbed her sides. In seconds, she was bloodier than when she had fought Dallas years ago.

  As she dodged a flurry of swipes from several hooded loa, her back touched Ouellette’s. Immediately, she tensed up, ready for him to attack. But instead he spoke.

  “Sam, a truce?” He sounded winded.

  Her lungs burned. “Yeah. For now. So, any ideas?”

  An alligator with crawfish claws jumped at them. She ducked, and he swiped at it with his knife, white energy flowing through the attack. The loa exploded in a shower of black dust. She watched as he sheathed his weapon, realizing that all Fused must be able to annihilate lesser spirits with one hit.

  “I’ll summon my ogouns and orishas,” he said. “You summon whatever you can.”

  “Right,” she said. As a six-armed skeleton with a second head in its ribcage jumped at her, she kicked it so hard, it exploded. Then she slapped both hands on the ground. “To all who would heed my command, your queen beseeches you. Fight for me!”

  A large, white sigil appeared at her feet. Off to the side, Ouellette did the same thing. “Warriors of the dark continent, hear my plea. Come!” A sigil appeared beneath him.

  In blinding flashes of lights, both sigils exploded, and a moment later, the air was filled with thousands of African spirits and an almost equal number of ghosts.

  The dead of the voodoo pantheon? Just as Papa Ghede said!

  Then she heard merry laughter. Floating dozens of yards away was Papa Ghede himself. “Ay there, luv, you and your grandfather split the attention of that snake what has me brother. Distract him enough, and I’ll get our children away ‘fore you destroy the focus.”

  “Right,” she said. “Of course, Papa.”

  A massive orisha who wore a mask bowed before Ouellette.

  “That meat pack has him a general,” Papa Ghede said. “Here’s one I know you’ll like!”

  The ghost of Edward Castille, covered in chains, appeared before her and bowed.

  “Dad!” she gasped.

  “My little Magnolia,” he said. “Don’t worry. I died for a child—you—so Papa Ghede now protects me. The dead will
fight to contain Vincent. This is our battle, too. Let us be your sword.”

  Before she could speak, he took her hand. “I am so proud of you, my daughter.” Kissing her hand, Edward took out a pair of machetes and rushed into the fray. She was so choked up with emotion that for a few seconds, all she could do was watch. It was pure pandemonium, with Vincent’s loa fighting both African spirits and the dead of the voodoo pantheon. Even Papa Ghede got involved, firing bolts of energy from his apple that banished loa back to the spirit world.

  “Whoa, ho, ho! This here be the most fun I’ve had since the Great Fire of ‘88, ya!”

  Awed by the massive counterattack on Vincent’s forces, Sam pushed her emotions back down and got swept up into the skirmish. For several minutes, she fought together with the dead, her comrades-in-arms now howling ghosts and enraged specters. She even saw Rodger and Michael, revitalized by the massive influx of energy, fighting alongside Edward. But as the battle grew the thickest, something caught her attention. It was Ouellette weaving his way through the fight toward the edge of the rig.

  “Oh, hell, no!” she shouted. “Edward, Rodger, Michael! Hold the fort!”

  Edward didn’t answer, sinking his weapons into a pair of hooded loa. Michael saluted quickly and then spun around to kick a decayed hag on a skeletal horse. It was Rodger who responded, tipping his hat. “Go kick his ass, Sam. We’ve got your back.”

  “Thanks, guys!” Sam then dashed after Ouellette, grabbing him by the waist. They were right next to the holes they had made earlier.

  “Stop it. Can’t you see how this is escalating? We can end this!”

  “Leave my children alone!” she shouted, suplexing him down one of the holes. As they hit the ground of the meeting hall, they crashed through to the floor below, then again, and then again. They broke through floor after floor, only stopping when they hit a hard, wooden surface. Looking up, Sam saw the bottom of the oil rig and felt the nighttime breeze. They had landed on a yacht at the dock.