by G A Chase
The demon warrior aimed one of her knives toward the window. “Harvesters aren’t subtle. Have a look out the window.”
Sere pulled Jennifer along at a distance like a kite. Down on the streets, across Canal’s neutral zone, black cloaks rode the wind like rags tossed from an invisible Mardi Gras float of the damned.
“Are there always so many?” Jennifer asked.
“Nope.” Doodlebug tied her hair back as if preparing for battle. “Half of the harvesters from the Quarter must be out there. And the longer we sit here gabbing like old ladies, the more will gather.”
Sere headed for the door with Jennifer still in tow. “Let’s do this thing.”
14
Once out on the street, instead of heading for the gauntlet of wraiths, Doodlebug led the contingent deeper into the Central Business District. “As soon as we’re out of sight of the harvesters, we’ll cut down toward the river. There are doppel gutter punks along Decatur that owe me favors, though I’m not sure how much good a bunch of street urchins will be against an army of hellions.”
“Why are the harvesters singling us out?” Jennifer whispered to Sere as they splashed through the shin-deep water.
Sere could imagine any number of reasons, none of which gave her any comfort. “I’d guess stalking the usual victims like a bar sleaze hitting on the same women every night becomes a little dreary.”
“They don’t seem like the kind of demons to worry about getting no as an answer,” Jennifer said.
As they spotted the garishly out-of-place casino at the end of the street—and the towering World Trade Center behind it, discharging lightning bolts into the storm—Doodlebug motioned for Sere and Jennifer to keep quiet and stick close. “This is it. Hopefully, the harvesters will still be spread out along Canal Street. Until they spot us, they’ll be running a zone defense. Once we cross the neutral zone, however, they’ll be coming at us in force. Jennifer, remember, you cannot be hurt. Only Sere can feel you. Use your body weight to her advantage, but don’t second-guess her instructions.” The warrior stared into Sere’s eyes. “The last thing you need is for me to tell you how to fight. The harvesters are pure demon. They have no connection to whatever reals originally gave them substance. Use that to your advantage. Don’t attempt to reason with them. Don’t ask them questions. Kill them like you would a cockroach scurrying across the bathroom floor at midnight.”
Jennifer leaned in close to Sere’s ear. “I don’t even want to know what one of those insects would look like in hell.”
“You know where we’re going,” Doodlebug continued. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll run what interference I can. Take the most direct route to the professor’s lab and don’t look back. Also, don’t trust anyone who looks like their outfit cost more than a week’s worth of groceries. The doppelgängers of the rich love perusing the streets in search of targets for the harvesters. Picking body parts off the shelf is fine for the common doppelgänger, but commissioning hits has become a popular trend of the rich and powerful.”
“You sound like you’ve made this run before,” Jennifer said.
“Remember how I mentioned doppelgängers have found ways to make a living in this underworld economy? With Sere’s training of both me and Dooly, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to guess why others seek me out.” She aimed her dagger at the streetlight. “I’ll take the far side of Decatur. When I’m a block ahead—which should be just as you lose sight of me—take off running. Depending on how the harvesters react, I’ll either zigzag between Decatur and Chartres or make a beeline toward the lower Quarter. Again, don’t worry about me. If you get in real trouble, head for the river. With their bony limbs and large capes, harvesters can’t swim worth a damn.”
Sere held tight to Jennifer’s hand as Doodlebug sprinted across the streetcar tracks. “Whatever happens, don’t let go.”
Crossing Canal and splashing through the first block of Decatur proved wet but not dangerous. Sere kept Jennifer to the shadowy doorways as the capes that rode on the wind sailed by in pursuit of the Doppel Avenger a block ahead. At an outdoor café that was more tumbled chairs and blowing menus than eatery, Jennifer got tangled in the chrome legs of a table.
“You’re not physical,” Sere yelled. “Stop thinking of yourself as being a part of this dimension. There must be some video game or something that Bobby plays with that you could relate to.”
Instead of pulling at the outdoor furniture, Jennifer swung her legs through the Formica top like the Hulk breaking through a brick wall. “Won’t happen again.”
Sere pulled her against the twelve-foot-tall window of a bar entrance under a balcony. “This is where it gets interesting. I know being a cheerleader feels like a lifetime ago, and I guess it was—Bobby’s lifetime—but you’ve got muscle memory going for you and no physical form to contend with. Here’s what we’re going to do. We run full speed at those shops and grab wrists, then you plant your feet and toss me up to the wrought-iron balcony like a shot put. Since you don’t really have any mass, so long as we keep hold of each other, you should follow along without a problem. That will at least get us out of this damn street river.”
“I like the sound of that.”
Sere looked down at the woman’s fuzzy slippers that seemed to be waving in the deep water. “The important thing is to build up enough momentum.”
Jennifer pulled Sere back behind the window’s projection and surveyed the street ahead. “We can hop along the stair entrances. That will get us a little higher. Then if we use one of the city’s solid garbage cans as our launch platform, we’ll be free of the water and won’t be slowed down at the last moment.”
With Joe’s combat training and her personal gymnastic education, Sere knew she could make the move on her own. But if Jennifer had any lingering sense of solidity, the two of them together might teeter into a gutter at the final moment. Working alone for so long made it difficult for Sere to anticipate another’s moves.
“I’ve always worked solo, and you were a part of a squad, so you lead,” Sere said, hoping that giving Jennifer control would empower the woman to do what was needed for the team and not get caught up in her self-image.
Jennifer nodded once and took off at a sprint. The woman’s padded slippers worked like a long-legged duck’s webbed feet, paddling more than running through the water. “I think I’m starting to get the hang of this.”
Sere hadn’t felt like a plodding amateur in years, but as her dress shoes crashed through the water instead of slipping through it like Jennifer’s, she hoped she’d be able to keep up. Within the swirling water, the dark forms of fish and snakes threatened to make Sere lose her footing. “Just let me know when you’re ready to launch.”
“Prepare for the jump.” The housewife in hell leapt onto the anchored garbage can, crouched low, and extended both hands.
Sere grabbed the woman’s wrists and sprang off the step like a frog hopping off a lily pad. Jennifer extended her legs to increase the pair’s momentum then swung around. Just before Sere’s toes pointed at the second-floor balcony, Jennifer bent her legs back over the garbage can and gave a final launch to project them skyward. Sere arched her back and sailed feetfirst over the balcony railing like a high jumper over a bar, but instead of hitting the ground running, she performed a double-body vault to get them clear across the relatively small porch.
Jennifer’s feet landed on the next handrail. “Two can play at that game.” She hunched low then launched them well into the next gallery like a Slinky bouncing from stair to stair.
On landing, Sere pulled Jennifer down to the slatted wooden floor. A dark figure fluttered overhead. Sere pulled the katana from her belt and stabbed at the sky. A rapid beating of wings took the wraith cormorant clear of the strike.
“Fucking fish eater.”
“I thought you liked animals,” Jennifer said as they got to their feet.
“Swamp creatures, yes, but river birds have always freaked me out—and cormorants give me
nightmares.”
Together, they jumped to the next balcony and resumed their sprint. Below them and less than a building ahead, the dark capes of harvesters fluttered on the wind like broken umbrellas in a storm.
Jennifer pointed at the melee. “I know what she said, but it looks like Doodlebug could use some help.”
Sere kept at her freight-train run as they plowed through the outdoor tables and chairs of an upscale restaurant’s balcony. “We obey her wishes. If we can get far enough ahead of her, we just might lose the bastards.”
At the end of the next gallery, however, they could either turn away from their destination or land back in the street. The intersection was teaming with harvesters. From the clash of weapons, Doodlebug didn’t appear to be alone.
“Guess we don’t have a choice,” Jennifer said.
Sere held her sword high and jumped with Jennifer as far from the building as their legs could thrust. They sailed clear of the carnage and landed behind a boy beating back the harvesters with a four-foot length of rebar. “Keep running. We’ve got your back. You should be clear to Jackson Square, but keep a watch out for the horse-drawn carriages. Those mules do the harvesters’ bidding.” He charged past her with a length of iron rebar to deflect a downward-slicing sickle.
“We’re out of here,” Sere yelled as she pulled hard at Jennifer’s arm. They raced across the busy intersection. A solid black sedan speeding down Decatur sent a wave of water against Sere’s legs, nearly knocking her down, while a tour bus drove straight at her and Jennifer.
“Down.” She pulled Jennifer face-first into the swirly pool of water, alcohol, and demon guts. The bus plowed over them. With a resounding crash that shook the street, the battering ram of a vehicle came to a stop. Sere pulled Jennifer free of the bus’s undercarriage and under the doorway of a curio shop.
“What brilliant move do you have planned for us now?” Jennifer asked while panting and covered in gore.
“Run.” A dozen harvesters exited the crashed bus like a group of tourists seeking out the nearest bar. Sere had to trust Jennifer to navigate the crumbling sidewalk while she ran sideways, swinging her sword at the mass of black capes behind them. Skulls covered in stretched leathery skin with black-dagger teeth snarled and lunged from the cowls. With a firm backhanded swing, Sere severed the head off the closest ghoul. “We need to get off the street before these assholes attract their friends.”
Halfway down the block from Decatur, Jennifer pointed to an abandoned building. “What about that construction site up ahead?”
The ancient brick structure—which, according to the placards, was destined to be another hotel—looked deserted. “It’s worth a shot. Can’t be much worse than out here,” Sere said. At the gaping hole where the hotel’s grand entrance would be, they ducked under the supporting wood beams. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s working today. The contractor must be using day laborers. They wouldn’t hang around New Orleans long enough to have doppelgängers.”
The constrained opening limited how many harvesters Sere had to fight off. By thrusting her blade into the bony bodies and swinging it through the wraiths’ capes, she caused arms and heads to start flying through the air. The dark mass of overlapping fabric blew away from the opening, allowing the driving rain to return.
“They must have figured there are easier targets,” Sere said.
Jennifer turned toward the building’s interior. “This place is only slightly less creepy than outside.” She had a point. Birds had a nasty habit of nesting in abandoned buildings.
Sere ran along the piles of lumber and sheetrock to stay clear of the water. Everything about the building had been demolished down to the original brick walls. “Good thing ghosts aren’t as big a deal in hell as everyone thinks.”
At the back door, they ran out into a walled-in brick courtyard. “Damn it!” Jennifer said. “Now what do we do?”
Sere pulled Jennifer in front of her and stared into her eyes. “I can climb these walls. I’ve done it plenty of times behind the Scratchy Dog, but I can’t do it with you weighing a hundred pounds. Imagine you’re a balloon animal floating above my head.”
Jennifer’s wide-eyed look made it clear she thought Sere was crazy. Even so, she took a deep breath as if inflating her balloon body. As she lifted clear of the water, she started to flail her arms and legs. “This is so freaky.”
Sere pulled her along to the cast-iron drain spout. “We’ll be out of here before you know it.” Climbing while clutching the inflated hand was a little more awkward than she was used to, but Sere had trained for all manner of inconveniences. At the top of the wall, she stood on the crumbling bricks and ran for a window in the next building. “Hopefully, no one’s home.”
“Doodlebug made it sound like these places were filled like tenement housing.” Jennifer floated along next to Sere like a cartoon character.
“So long as they’re service workers and not rich people playing at being normal, we should be okay.” She grabbed the bottom of the painted double-hung window and heaved it open then pushed Jennifer through like she was delivering a balloon bouquet. When Sere crawled through the window and stepped onto the woven rug, she noticed that Jennifer was once again standing on the floor like a regular person.
Jennifer nodded toward the door. “Come on. I used to date a guy who lived in one of these remodeled slave quarters. There’s a staircase from the porch to the patio. From there, we can escape out the carriageway of the main townhouse.”
Sere tripped over a drunk passed out in the middle of the narrow living room. Jennifer reached for the door, but her hand went straight through it. “I got it,” Sere said.
Outside, the back of the townhouse loomed over the compound like the master’s quarters it had once been. She raced down the stairs, feeling like a slave escaping captivity, and stopped in the dark access designed for horse and carriage that ran from the courtyard to the street. Music and laughter oozed from the main house. At the front of the compound, Sere pushed against the large wrought-iron gate and squeezed through.
“Now what?” Jennifer asked.
They were still a block from Jackson Square. “We’ll stick close to the cathedral. I want to put as much space as possible between us and the horse-drawn carriages on Decatur. I already had one of those beasts try to chew off an ear as a child.” She looked to the sky, wishing she had some way to tell time. Anyone in life who planned to provide help would need a lot more information about where she was and what she was doing, but Lefty had a way of seeking her out no matter how desperate her situation—he just needed time to find her. “Any guess on how long we’ve been in hell?”
“Forever?” Jennifer said.
“Sounds about right.” The street buskers eyed Sere as she and Jennifer snuck through the crowd of onlookers in front of the church. Soaked and windblown, each person they passed looked thoroughly miserable, but none of them raised a hand against the pair. Even so, she and Jennifer were far too exposed for Sere’s tastes. If a harvester spotted them, they weren’t likely to find support from the random people in the square. “We need to head back toward the river.”
The artwork that hung from the old wrought-iron fence alongside Jackson Square was covered with images of decapitations, severed limbs, and anguished faces. In what should have been the tranquil garden-like refuge from the city’s hustle and bustle, doppelgängers missing parts howled in pain. “That must be where the harvesters’ victims go in hope of treatment,” Jennifer said. “Those poor souls.”
“They aren’t souls, but I wouldn’t wish that level anguish on a sewer rat.” Back at Decatur, Sere pointed to the tattered black-and-gray remains of what had been the festive Café Du Monde fabric overhangs. “If we can get back across the street, we can get up to the levee. That will at least put us clear of these damn cars and buses.”
“They can’t hurt me,” Jennifer said in such a soft voice that Sere suspected she was talking to herself.
“Now.” Sere ran throug
h the water and between the jammed traffic. Cars plowed into the back of the one in front as she passed their bumpers. She didn’t slow down until they were on the incline leading up to the levee and out of the lake that had taken over the Quarter’s streets. “The wind is going to be worse up here, close to the river, but at least we’ll be able to run easier on the dry ground. If we can just get past Governor Nicholls wharf, we’ll be clear of the Quarter.” She took off at a jog along the brick-covered path.
“And home free?” Jennifer’s quivering voice made Sere suspect the question was far more optimistic than she felt.
“I’m not sure why the harvesters stick to the Quarter. The real problem, though, is actually getting past the wharf. Once we get there, we’ll have to duck down off the levee again, right along the French Market.”
Jennifer came to a full stop. Though the woman didn’t have mass—other than through the psychic connection they shared—she also didn’t need to respond to Sere’s momentum. Like a boat having its anchor chain suddenly caught on a pier piling, Sere felt her arm nearly pulled out of its socket at the sudden unyielding stop.
“I can’t go down there,” Jennifer whined, “not after what Doodlebug described. The place must be teaming with harvesters.”
“Even those bastards know better than to hunt where their customers shop. We’ll skirt the off-loading side road. No one pays much attention to the goings-on of laborers.”
Jennifer kept her feet planted like a little girl not moving any closer to a snake. “I just can’t.”
Sere looked along the levee path in desperation. If Jennifer wouldn’t go forward, their only option, other than diving into the Mississippi, was to cut back into the heart of the Quarter. “We can’t fly, and I’m not willing to try swimming with our hands linked together. So do you really want to face the harvester gauntlet again?”
