by G A Chase
“You need to relax and let the stones descend into the darkness.”
Letting Fisher fall into hell made the term letting him down all too real. “Do I have a choice?” Sere asked.
“Nope. You’re going to have to trust me this time.”
“I just knew one day it was going to come to this,” Sere said as she tried to relax and let Jennifer take the lead.
Like trying to catch a fish with a lasso, every maneuver by Jennifer seemed completely pointless, but eventually, the two interlocked stones rose to the surface.
“Got it,” Kendell said.
“Nice work, Jennifer.” For the first time, Sere understood the power of using the woman’s name while giving a compliment. Joe had done the same thing with Sere throughout their time together.
Sere balled her unbandaged hand, reached over from the Barcalounger, and punched Fisher in the shoulder. “What were you thinking? If Ann hadn’t called us in, we might have had to break you out of an insane asylum. As it was, the doctor wanted to hold you for an evaluation.”
“Ouch.” He rubbed his shoulder in mock offense. “I thought superheroines were supposed to treat their sidekicks with more consideration.” With Bart’s help, he sat up on the professor’s worktable. “I don’t understand how Monty overpowered me. I really thought I had him under control. But since he’d taken charge, I decided to use his newfound dominance against him. Your best guess with Thomas was that the pellet attracted and empowered the dominant force. Though taking a pellet earlier might have helped me deal with Monty, it would have also made me vulnerable to being exorcised if the pellet was removed. I had to wait until the prick took full command. Once I knew I couldn’t defeat him, I swallowed the pellet as my final act of defiance.”
“That was one hell of a gamble.” Polly wound the bandage back onto the spool. “Most of our explanation of what happened with Thomas was speculation based on events. You could have just as easily had your soul torn to shreds the way his was. Did you even consider that possibility?”
Fisher looked out the door at his wife, who was standing by the railing with Myles. “I had my family to hold onto. Thomas didn’t have anyone. It was a calculated risk, but if I did nothing, Monty was going to take over. I couldn’t subject my family to his evil. I’d rather have died than let them think that’s who I’d become.”
The professor closed his laptop. “What did you experience as we removed Monty?”
Fisher rubbed his forehead as if trying to recall a dream. “It was like being a thread as it’s pulled out of a stitch. I was in life, expecting to be cut free from the fabric that held me to Monty on its other side, but instead, I was drawn through the barrier down to hell where Monty couldn’t hang onto me before I was lifted back to life.”
“I’m confused.” Kendell held up the blue-glass bottle. “Are you saying he’s back in hell, or is he in this voodoo jar?”
The professor drew two interconnected circles on his ever-present yellow notepad, one labeled Hell and one labeled Jar. The area where they crossed was labeled Monty. “Technically, both. So long as he’s trapped in that jar, he’s here in our dimension, but if that jar were to break, he’d be dropped back into hell. As Lincoln Laroque proved with Baron Malveaux’s spirit, however, he can also be ingested from the container into another human body. Energy never goes away. To syphon off the power from the paranormal nuclear meltdown in hell, my equipment creates doppelgängers. Those spirits never really disappear, even when their bodies dissipate. They’re just trapped in my computers while other doppelgängers take their place. Since Monty isn’t a living soul, he can’t be dumped in the deep waters the way a human would at the end of their life. My equipment makes for the next best thing.”
Sere couldn’t believe the professor had been so shortsighted in his creation. “So you’re just creating more and more demons until hell bursts at the seams? Because I’ve got news for you; we may be reaching the breaking point.”
“The situation isn’t that dire. A balance has been established between the living and the doppelgänger damned. Agnes’s hell dimension can only hold the same number of demons as humans wandering the streets of New Orleans. When someone leaves the city for more than a few days, their doppelgänger goes dormant. The body dissipates, and the spirit is archived in my computer banks while a new doppelgänger is created. Hell’s new citizen is based on some person who’s been in the real city for a long enough period of time for my equipment to have captured their image.”
Sere shook her head, trying to make the information line up with what she knew. “So that’s how Marjory sending a living soul to hell results in a demon escaping. She’s unbalancing the population, thereby popping out a doppelgänger. But I thought you said she was creating a bridge.”
“Nothing is ever that simple,” Polly interjected. “There’s a reason you leave the scientific stuff to us.”
Sere turned back to Fisher, who was looking stronger by the minute. The color had fully returned to his cheeks. He swung his legs off the table like he was ready to get on with his life.
“So you were inside the professor’s equipment in hell,” Sere said. “Did you see the souls Marjory’s demon horde condemned to that dimension?”
“They were part of the same hole Monty first penetrated through the fabric.” Fisher unfastened one of the buttons of his shirt and held out the buttonhole. “They were like these stitches, except they were there to hold the hole open rather than reinforce it.”
“There’s something I’ve never understood,” Polly said. “How did Monty get out of hell in the first place?”
Fisher hopped down from the table and bent his legs as if they were stiff from lack of use. “That’s information he took to the bottle with him.”
“Which doesn’t put us any closer to stopping Marjory from raising a devil,” Sere lamented.
The professor pulled a beat-up cardboard shoebox out from the clutter under his worktable. “I thought this might come in handy. It’s a remote connection to my equipment.” He opened the box. Inside was a pair of long, elegant white gloves. “I thought since you’re going up against the city’s elite, it made sense to make them high-end.”
She pulled out one of the long silk gloves. “What good is this going to do me if I need a mile-long cord stretching out the door to the phone?”
He dug around in the tissue paper then pulled out a black cell phone. “I studied the helmet Joe made for you. With Bart’s help, we worked this up for you. Connect the sleeve of the glove to its base, and you should be good to go. You can also use it as a regular phone. It calls directly into my equipment. Like a switchboard, from here the call gets routed to any normal, human-energy-based device.”
Sere took the box, feeling a little like a kid who’d just been entrusted with the family car. “I thought you worried about me making the connection alone.”
“The glove will connect you to Jennifer, but using her energy to heal you will require a paranormal med kit—and that’s typically going to require a second person. I’d still recommend having Bart with you during your communications in case something goes wrong, but we can’t coddle you forever.”
This has been coddling? She didn’t want to argue, however, with the man who was giving her additional freedom—even if it came with its own leash. “Thanks.” Sere folded up the thin fabric gloves over the phone and stuffed them in the pocket of her riding jacket.
6
The sun was just touching the horizon as Myles and Kendell loaded Fisher and Ann into the VW for their trip home. Just to be safe, Polly tagged along. Once the old bus left the professor’s parking lot, Sere took a seat next to Bart on the side of his Ducati.
“Crazy day,” Sere said. Between dealing with the hospital, conducting the exorcism, and discussing what was going on with hell, they’d lost most of the day.
He folded his massive arms across his chest as if steeling himself for a conversation she wasn’t going to like. “I’ve been thinking about it
, and we should have told them about Jennifer. First, it might be why Myles’s dog has been turning demony. If something was wrong with Lefty, you’d torture anyone who didn’t divulge all of their information. Second, whatever happened to Fisher must have been caused by the opening of the hell mouth. His suffering started exactly when you and I were getting all sex crazed. Which brings me to my final point—you. I’ve never seen you lose your cool so easily as you did in the bar last night or get as sexually swept away afterward.”
Sere made sure Riley’s rifle was secure in the Ducati motorcycle’s front holster. With her snakes still exhibiting a degree of ownership over the weapon, she didn’t dare keep it with her. Whatever they were about to run into, they’d need all the firepower they could get.
“I know you’re right, but we can be of more use hunting down the real cause of the problem than answering a ton of questions. If I had told them about Jennifer, you and I would be spending the next three days in the professor’s lab while he ran his tests, only to find the problem isn’t with his equipment. Doughnut Hole was a gift from Agnes Delarosa. He was created from hell’s elements, so he’s not simply a projection like the doppelgängers. Whatever he’s experiencing must be coming from the hell mouth, not the professor’s equipment. As for Fisher, I’m just glad he survived the exorcism. We knew one day we were going to have to deal with Monty, and Fisher was right—giving the demon full power by swallowing the pellet was the most logical solution.” She snuggled next to Bart on the seat. Their night of passion had veered from sweet and romantic to animal and demonic then back again. But nothing matched the fireworks at midnight. She put her hand on his sinewy forearm. “And so long as I’ve got you to keep me satisfied, I’m not overly concerned about my reactions to hell’s lightning strikes.”
“You can count on me for your nightly sexorcisms.” He gave her one of his seductive smiles. “So where to next?”
She looked out beyond the city’s skyline. “We need to see what’s happening up on the Northshore. That’s where the demons first appeared. If we’re dealing with a tear in the hell mouth, that’s where we’ll encounter hell’s latest escapees—be they doppelgänger or something else.”
He nodded. “I’ll head up to Jackson’s bluff and check in on Edie. Things should be in full swing by the time I get there—just in time to catch my regulars well into the kegs. With everyone sufficiently intoxicated, any strange happenings out in the swamp will be the main topics of conversation. On the way, I’ll swing by Riley’s. I know you don’t like her or her customers, but those gator hunters will be on the front line of any swamp strangeness.”
Just don’t go fucking either woman, Sere thought. She fought down her mistrust. Bart might have had his wild sexual adventures, but his loyalty was as much a part of him as his nine-inch cock.
“I’ll take the winding route along the swamp to get a good look at things. I have to find Lefty. Hopefully, he’s on Sanguine’s island, but if not, I may have to go searching for him. If you and I don’t cross paths beforehand, let’s plan on meeting at Joe’s cabin tomorrow morning. Don’t fall into any demon traps.” She stood from his motorcycle so he could straddle the seat and pull on his helmet.
“Right back at ya.” He gunned his Ducati and headed north toward the freeway.
She sat on her Triton, watching him until he was lost to the outgoing commuter traffic. Something about his presence eased her sorrow at losing Joe. Without Bart’s steady energy, however, she felt the grief building like waves generated from a distant, storm-tossed ocean.
This isn’t getting me anywhere. She fired up the motorcycle. Even though she’d been using the old bike for months, the fact that she’d snatched it from one of Joe’s hidden caches had made it feel like a cookie she’d snuck out of the jar when no one was watching. With Joe dead, however, the motorcycle really was hers now—along with a host of hidden weapons, vehicles, and supplies stashed from New Orleans to the Texas border.
She patted the gas tank. “Riding you was more fun when it felt forbidden.” Responsibilities seemed to be piling up on her like rainwater in a clogged catch basin. “Looks like it’s just us again.” The two snakes stuck their heads out, excited as little kids going on a new adventure.
The freeway was the most direct route out of the city but also the least informative. Between Marjory’s bridge of the damned and Jennifer’s threats to erase the border between dimensions just for a cup of coffee, hell could be rising up like the Mississippi after the spring melt. She skirted along the river toward the Crescent City Bridge. As she rode past the abandoned World Trade Center, she leaned over and spit on the ground. Though harmless in life, the same building in hell would forever be a runaway paranormal nuclear reactor. The only way to save the three interconnected dimensions—life, hell, and Guinee—was to use that power to create doppelgängers. And so long as those potential demons threatened to escape hell, Sere would have to stand guard.
She laid into the Triton on the ramp that lifted her free of the city. Once she got to the less developed side of the Mississippi, she could take a more leisurely pace to the swamp. If something had gone wrong, Lefty would send a message via his alligator companions, and that meant Sere needed to keep close to the interconnected swamps and the rivers that fed them.
Only a few miles outside of the city, the arms of the bayou that descended from the north welcomed Sere back into their embrace. Her two snakes slithered out of the saddlebags and across her legs and wrapped around the handlebars of the motorcycle as she tore down the narrow, winding highway. Their forked tongues flicked the muggy swamp air. Suddenly, they started shaking their rattles, sounding like playing cards stuck in the spokes of bicycles.
“Now what’s got your scales in a twist?”
One of the snakes wound around the handlebar and hit the turn signal. Both faced the upcoming turnoff.
“Okay. I can take a hint.” She slowed down and took the sweeping curve toward the water.
Sere had a lot to do and a long way to go, but her snakes never steered her wrong. If there was something amiss out in the bayou—and this close to the city—she needed to be the first to know about it. She watched their little arrow-shaped heads. When they pointed toward a gravel parking lot, she swung in and killed the motor. Dust from her tires hung in the air and irritated her eyes and nose. From the highway beyond the trees, the sounds of cars working their way home from the city mixed in with the chirping of night insects beginning their day.
“Now what?” she asked the serpents.
The snakes uncoiled from the handlebars, fell to the ground, and slithered toward the tall grass. She checked her knife and four-barrel shotgun filled with paranormal shells before following the little buggers. The swamp in the late-afternoon light brought back memories of her home in hell; lush smells of dense vegetation so rich she could practically taste it, sounds of animals she knew as friends, and the absence of demons. But that had been while Sanguine was in charge. Without her watching over the dimension, evil had taken over like vines in an untended garden.
As the heat of the afternoon gave way to the cooling breeze of early evening, each sensation seemed to be magnified. At the water’s edge, the snakes turned away from the last signs of human activity. The skyline of New Orleans, which in the parking lot had looked like a faded movie backdrop beyond the trees, disappeared between the branches.
For an hour, Sere followed the undulating path her snakes cut through the grass and mud as the day faded to twilight. “I hope you dudes know where you’re going. I don’t have all friggin’ day.”
“They were answering my call.” A woman walked out from under the tree limbs. Her long, straight, blue-gray hair streaked with black so closely matched the shadows around her that Sere had trouble clearly making out anything more than the woman’s face. Her flowing dress in shades of green matched the vegetation. She looked like she’d been painted to blend into the scenery. “I’m Chloe Aberrant.”
Sere put her hand on the b
utt of her shotgun. “You brought me out here? Why?”
“I thought you could use a friend.”
She’d never been a fan of evasive answers and was even less so when there was work to be done. “I don’t have any friends, and I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”
“Everyone needs friends.” The woman’s lilting voice harmonized with the swaying branches.
Sere took her hand off her gun. Not many women felt at ease in the swamp, especially at night. “You’re a swamp witch.”
“Where there’s a swamp, there’s a witch to guard it,” the woman said, giving yet another answer that got under Sere’s skin.
“That doesn’t explain how you know me or why you summoned my snakes.”
“The voices of the swamp witches who came before me that echo in the bayou at night told me to find you.”
Peachy, Sere thought. Witches had a way of using magic to explain all sorts of things that didn’t make sense. “What do you expect from me?”
Chloe walked past Sere to the water’s edge. From the canvas bag she wore like a purse, she pulled out a small mason jar and filled it with water. “Watch this.” She snugged the container into the dirt at Sere’s feet.
Again, Sere felt like she was wasting time, but she bent down to inspect the jar just the same. From what little she knew of witches, they had a way of being easily offended and obstinate when provoked. At first, she thought the water rising in the jar was just a trick of the fading light, but when it started overflowing the container, she knew something was wrong.
“Magic jar?” she asked.
“Just your average canning jar with a mirror spell inside. It allows me to keep an eye on the divide between our reality and Agnes Delarosa’s creation. The waters are rising in hell, and unless something is done soon, they’ll start overflowing through hell’s gate into our dimension.”
