Hell or High Water (The Devil's Daughter Book 4)

by G A Chase

  Sere had been so focused on getting through the hell mouth that she hadn’t considered that she might have company. “Even though Marjory will still be fretting over her devil, she might want more toy soldiers, either for her demon army or for her experiments. It would be best for you to have your swords ready.”

  “I always do.” She pointed toward a residential street that angled away from the Industrial Canal. “To steer clear of the intersecting waterways while not getting too close to the Quarter, we’ll have to zigzag through the neighborhoods.”

  Sere leaned hard into the turn, sending a splash of water into the open doors of a corner café. “I’m not crazy about all of these cars parked along the street.”

  “So long as they’re not moving, they shouldn’t be a threat. If we keep to the side streets, we should make it to the freeway without too much traffic to contend with. You keep an eye on the roads, and I’ll make sure we’re not spied on from above.” Doodlebug pulled her flintlock out from the back of her pants. The old-fashioned gun was useless at any distance, but Sere assumed the exploding gunpowder would scare off any bird who tried to get close enough to see who was driving.

  At the next corner, she had to hit the brakes to avoid joining the back of a second-line parade of mangled doppelgängers, probably marching in remembrance of their severed limbs. “Now what?”

  Doodlebug hunched low over Sere’s back. “Take to the sidewalks. You can lay into the gas while we’re under the cover of the balconies.”

  Sere hopped the bike up onto the brick walkway and wove it between the handful of onlookers. As the motorcycle cleared the brass band belting out a funeral dirge on the street, it hugged the walls of the buildings. With the muffled exhaust, she and Doodlebug wouldn’t be detected by anything above and only had to worry about the occasional pedestrian.

  Halfway through the Saint Claude neighborhood, Doodlebug indicated a sharp left toward the freeway. “I can’t imagine any bird being dumb enough to venture farther than this from the Mississippi. With the driving rain, it’d be too hard to find their way back to the river.”

  Sere nodded as she took the main drag toward the overpass. “Hang on.”

  Sheets of rain pummeled her, making it difficult to see as she laid into the motorcycle. Once the tires hit the asphalt, the bike turned into the speed demon she remembered. Doodlebug held on tighter as the momentum forced Sere to pull on the handlebars for support. At the top of the ramp, the Honda Blackbird leapt clear of the roadway before settling down to mix in with the freeway traffic. Sere swung the motorcycle between the cars and trucks as if they were standing still. If she could outrun them, they wouldn’t have time to organize an attack.

  “It’s going to be hard to kill demons if I can’t see them until we’re right on top of them,” Doodlebug yelled.

  “Do you want me to slow down?”

  “No.” Doodlebug set her sickle against Sere’s thigh. “Just saying, if you see a target, let me know.”

  The ride out of town was as uneventful as it could be, considering Sere was straddling a high-performance motorcycle and riding through a hurricane in hell with a sickle-wielding doppelwarrior on her back. She sensed the demon walking on the freeway median a mile ahead. Alone and out of place, the hopeful escapee stood out like a blaring car horn.

  With a tap on Doodlebug’s knee, Sere slowed slightly and merged toward the upcoming victim. “You’ve got one shot, because I’m not flipping around if you miss.”

  “Got it.” The girl curved the blade out from Sere’s side.

  The motorcycle shook from the rumble strips in the roadway. The walking demon never even turned as Sere sped by him. In the side mirror, she saw the demon’s severed head bouncing along after them.

  “One down,” Doodlebug called out.

  “Eighteen to go.” Sere swung the motorcycle from one side of the freeway to the other to avoid vehicles while setting Doodlebug up for her next decapitations.

  18

  Between racing through the Quarter, worrying about seeing Jennifer safely returned to her body, and speeding out of town, Sere felt downright relieved to be back on the dock of Joe’s cabin—even if it was hell’s reproduction of the real structure. She faced the bayou, feeling nostalgic. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d chased Joe off the dock and raced him to the far side of the river. That had been in life, though, and this was hell. From the field strewn with pine needles beside the cabin, she heard the telltale over-revving of a motorcycle flipping over.

  “Go easier on the gas and stop popping the clutch,” she yelled without looking.

  “A unicorn would have been a lot easier,” Doodlebug yelled from the ground.

  Sere walked to the edge of the deck so she could watch the girl struggle with the heavy machine. “Not nearly as much fun, though. Turn around and put your butt on the seat. Grab the edge and lift with your legs.”

  With a lot of struggling, the girl finally got the bike upright. “How long did it take you to learn to ride?”

  “I’ve always ridden motorcycles.”

  “Right.” Doodlebug started up the engine. “Don’t forget, I saw you total that BMW.” The bike lurched as she let out the clutch, but this time, she didn’t let it get away from her. After a wiggly, staggering start, she got the wheels back on the driveway. With both feet hovering above the ground, the girl pulled the hand brake. “I did it!”

  “Congratulations. You drove the bike thirty feet without dropping it.” As Sere climbed down the wooden ladder and walked up to the dirt road, she turned her snarky attitude down. Doodlebug had been invaluable in making it through the Quarter. She deserved better. “It’ll get easier from here. Only shift up when you’re confident that you can handle the previous gear. Don’t be stupid with this thing.”

  The girl nodded as she patted the gas tank like the bike was her pet. “So what do you need from me now?”

  The motorcycle wasn’t meant to be payment for future services, but Sere needed the girl too much to let her off the hook. “Make contact with Jenna. You need to convince her I’m still in hell.”

  Doodlebug fondled the handle of her sword. “Are you sure you don’t want me to kill her? From what I’ve seen, the professor already has enough information on you to keep you functional without the connection to your real.”

  “No. Jenna is easier to deal with in solid form. If she turns into a ghost, she would be far less predictable. I also need you to find out where the Laroques are operating in hell. A woman as powerful as Marjory wouldn’t trust her operation to a pipsqueak like Andy. She must have other resources in this dimension.”

  “What about the hell mouth?”

  Good question, Sere thought. Even if Jenna stopped messing with the portal, that wouldn’t stop the doppeldemons from trying to escape. “Keep watch on the freeway each afternoon like we’d discussed. That’s why you’ve got the motorcycle. Kill any doppelgänger who tries to leave the city.”

  “Gee, what will I do with all of my free time?” Doodlebug said sarcastically.

  Sere hadn’t realized how annoying snarkiness could be—and she considered herself an expert on that topic. “I also need you to find the interdimensional vault. We still need to free Sanguine.”

  The girl bit her lip like she had a question, but all she did was nod. “Anything else?”

  “Don’t get killed.”

  Doodlebug gave Sere a long analyzing stare. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you refer to me as a living being.”

  “As I told Polly, even though you’re still a demon, I can’t deny that you’re alive with some sort of spirit inside you.”

  Doodlebug nodded toward the river. “Watch yourself out there. I’d take dodging cars and trucks over avoiding the vines trying to strangle me any day. I’d hate to lose the one person who halfway understands me. Plus, you’re still my ticket out of here.”

  Sere didn’t need the reminder. “In spite of all the work I’ve laid out for you, the offer still stands. A
nytime you’re ready, I’ll set you up with a nice quiet life among the living. You won’t be immortal. You’ll have to accept a lifetime that ends when Dooly Buell passes on, and that could be tomorrow or seventy years from now. Honestly, I really don’t think you would like a normal life as much as you think you would.”

  The girl checked that her swords were well secured. “I do kind of enjoy being the Doppel Avenger. It’s just reassuring to know I’ve got a Get Out of Hell card when I want it.”

  Sere remained on the dirt driveway until Doodlebug had managed to get the motorcycle moving in a relatively straight line. “The only way to learn is by doing.” She spoke Joe’s old adage aloud as a way of calming her fears that the girl was about to wrap the bike around a tree.

  Once the angry huffing of the muffled exhaust pipe was no longer discernable from the constant rain, Sere returned to the cabin. She stood in the middle of the living room with her arms around her stomach. The place felt more than empty, as if it was sucking her soul.

  “This is just Agnes’s reproduction of Joe’s cabin. None of this is real,” she said. But saying the words didn’t help relieve her feeling of loss.

  She sat on his work stool next to the table where Joe had created so many wonders in life. “Everyone I know tells me I need to grieve for you, but I have no idea how. You taught me to be strong, to fight, to shake off pain and persevere. You never told me how to sit quietly and face my emotions.” She stared around the empty workspace. “So tell me, old man, how do I deal with your absence? I really want to know.”

  Chasing down demons, confronting Marjory and her newly minted devil, and running hell’s gauntlet had proven worthy distractions, but waiting for Lefty to work his way through the swamp didn’t leave her any physical confrontations to mask her sorrow. She crossed her hands on the table and laid her head on them. Though she never needed sleep, the emotional pain wore more heavily on her than all of the physical exertions of the last few days.

  “Sleeping in hell is such a bad idea,” she said. But knowing she should stay awake and being able to do so were very different things.

  The gentle tapping of ball-peen hammer to metal made her sit up. “Whatcha making?”

  Joe, in his perpetually grubby overalls, lifted the magnifying goggles from his face. “Just trying to get this flintlock to fire correctly.” He set the piece of metal on the table and looked at her. His deep-crystal-blue eyes made her want to cry, but she feared doing so might break the illusion of his presence. “What can I do for you?”

  “Tell me how to deal with your death.” The words rushed out of her like a dam breaking.

  His familiar good-natured laugh was like an emotional punch in the gut. “Figure out how to deal with the loss of a loved one, and every person alive will fall at your feet.”

  Unlike all those other people, Sere had a solution within her grasp. “What if they didn’t have to lose those they loved?”

  He pursed his lips like he’d been expecting that question for some time. “Are you talking about handing out immortality?”

  She’d spent so much time combating others who believed that was the ultimate answer that the idea had snuck its way into her thinking. “Why would it be so bad?”

  He folded his arms across his chest and stared at her from under his brow, indicating that his answer wasn’t going to be simple. “Think of life as a hand of poker. You’re dealt cards that you have no control over: sex, economic status, race, country of origin, etcetera. Some cards, you play as best you can. Others, you try to improve. Then there are the community cards—the other people around you who help you form your life. Together, they make up the hand you have to work with. Other players may have been dealt better hands or be more skillful at reading their opponents or just better at bluffing. That’s the game. At the end, you win, or you lose. Then the cards are returned to the deck, reshuffled, and you get another chance.”

  Sere leaned forward on the table, completely confused. “I don’t get it. What does that have to do with death verses immortality?”

  “If the game never ends, eventually, someone ends up with all of the chips. It’s inevitable. Then the rest of the players are left beholden to that master. Because they can’t toss in their cards, there is never an escape. Those that pass on their power and wealth to their next generation are proof enough that there are those who would extend their winning beyond the grave. But with death, all players’ cards are returned to the deck, and it’s reshuffled. You may lose in this life, but the next one may be better. Even a winner has to consider what comes next for them personally. Play the game too ruthlessly, and they might find they’re on the other end of the cards after the next deal. Inherently, we all understand that this life is better when everyone has a chance to improve their situation.”

  Sere knew all too well the pitfalls of being the ultimate winner—her father had proven how evil such a position could be. “But what if that master of the game wasn’t trying to gather all of the chips? Wouldn’t the game continue on amicably if everyone knew there was no end point?”

  Joe shrugged. “There will always be those who want to win at all cost. Put just one cut-throat player at the table, and everyone else has to play to win or be defeated and beholden to that one greedy bastard.”

  Sere couldn’t accept that existence could be distilled to winners and losers. “Life isn’t a game of poker. Together, those who care for each other can contain people who are only out for themselves. I have to believe that. My very existence is proof that evil can be overcome by a dedicated group. You should know that. You were a part of that group.”

  Joe put his feet up on the table. “Maybe someday in the future, when we all live together without competition, we’ll be ready for settling into permanent bodies, but for now, we’re still figuring things out. Locking everyone into their current situation would be like telling children they’d be stuck in second grade for the rest of their lives—complete with bullies, know-it-alls, and a power structure they can’t change. But my poker analogy is only one reason I’d turn down your offer of immortality. Tell me, has your relationship with Bart changed since I died?”

  Sere didn’t really want to get into her love life with her mentor. “Why?”

  “With a limited time to get to know others, there’s more incentive to do something with our emotions. If you believe you have forever to get to know someone or do something, then there’s always tomorrow. But have a calendar in front of you with a drop-dead date—even if you don’t know what that date is—and you’re faced with admitting your feelings or spending the time you have wondering, What if…?”

  Bart had opened the door to talking about their shared longing multiple times. She’d always found a reason to duck his advances—until Joe’s death showed her the foolishness of such avoidance, but that wasn’t something she was ready to admit. “At some point, our mutual desire would have pushed us over the edge.”

  “For sexual attraction, sure—I know you well enough to remember how your life was in hell—but getting your physical needs met is different than bonding your soul to another. Lasting connections are vital for people struggling to make it through life. As an immortal, however, being bonded to another person for all eternity could be pretty daunting.”

  “You’re saying because I can’t die, my connections aren’t as deep as those mortals around me?” Sere asked with some irritation.

  “I’m saying if everyone around you couldn’t die, you might not be as willing to open your soul to them.”

  Sere began to wonder if seeing her old mentor one more time had been such a good idea. “So, you’re back to the idea of the deck eventually being reshuffled as a reason to go all-in on life and love.”

  “I’m saying we as individuals learn from our life events. And when we die, that knowledge is added to the sum total of human experience. Each of us gets to play the hero and the villain, the lover and the warrior, the powerful and the destitute. That’s the gift death gives us mere mort
als—change.” He got off his work stool, came around the table, and put his hands on her shoulders. “I loved this life—mostly because of you being such a large part of it—but I wouldn’t have wanted to play the mentor for eternity, nor would you have wanted to always have parental figures watching over you. Growth inevitably involves change, and death is the ultimate transformation—not just for the person passing on but also those who were around them.”

  “And what about me?” If she couldn’t include those she loved in her timeless existence, she wondered how she was supposed to fit into their reality.

  “Life was my poker table. You exist based on another set of rules—ones not of your choosing. I suspect that your connections to us time-limited humans will result in understandings that I can’t even imagine.” He put his forehead to hers. “But your life is your own. You’ve outgrown the need for a mentor. It’s time for you to surpass us all.”

  19

  A loud splash from the river roused Sere from her sleep. She looked around the cabin, half expecting to still see Joe toiling away at his project, but the room was as empty as it had been when she’d nodded off. “If sleep truly is the intersection of dimensions, I just want to say thanks for leaving me one last conversation. Though I’m still not convinced by your arguments.”

  She got up and headed for the back sliding glass door. Out in the swamp, Lefty had his head on the dock and was rocking it with his front feet like a kid playing with an air mattress in a swimming pool.

  “I’m on my way, my friend.” She headed out then shimmied down the wooden ladder to the ground and ran toward the dock. The prospect of leaving hell made her heart beat as fast as her footfalls on the dirt path to the water.

  Lefty snuggled up to the shore just as Sere reached the river. She hopped onto his scaly back and ran up to his head. “Get us through the hell mouth and stay out of sight of any birds.”