I reached out to give her a thumbs up to see if she was okay, when both of my hands were wrenched behind my back. “No,” I said, or maybe I yelled. I couldn’t really tell. “He’s the one you want. He fired the gun. He killed Sister Evangeline.”
They ignored me.
As someone pulled me out, another cop lifted Sister Betty. The wet shine on her tunic glistened, but pain transformed her face. “She’s been shot!” But no matter how I struggled, I couldn’t break free.
I tried to relax my jaw and not grit my teeth as I answered. “I told you, already, Robicheau fired the gun. The only time I touched it was to take it away.”
“And broke his fingers.” He glanced up at me, his pen poised over a steno notebook.
“Either that or get shot.”
He wrote without acknowledging my response.
“Once I had it, I slid it across the room and tried to secure him against further violence. Now, will you please tell me the status of my partner?”
“He’s being questioned.” The detective sounded bored. “But since he wasn’t there, he’ll probably be released soon.”
“He? No, my other partner. Sister Bridgit. The one in the room with me. She was shot. I need to know how she is.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t aware anyone had been injured.” With a nod at the notebook on the table in front of him, he continued. “You’re saying the priest shot the gun?”
I stopped pacing around the spartan, industrial green conference room and stared at him. “Seriously? How many times do I need to answer this question?”
A knock at the door interrupted whatever he intended to say. When it opened, an officer gestured to the detective, and the two whispered at the door, too low for me to hear over the buzzing in my ears. The detective glanced at me but returned to his conversation.
I folded my arms and waited. Never had I been held or questioned this long by local law enforcement. Of course, I’d never had such a contentious encounter with them before getting caught up in such a weird situation. Okay, not never, but not often. Not more than half dozen times or so.
And probably because Sister Betty or DEMON, the Department of Extra-Dimensional, Magical, and Occult Nuisances, usually intervened. Without her, it would take time before DEMON got the message.
Without her—
Nausea roiled in my stomach, and I pushed the thought away.
The two men nodded at each other, and the detective returned to his seat at the table, refusing to meet my eyes.
“And?”
He looked up. “And what?”
“What did he tell you about my partner?”
“Nothing.”
“She was shot.” I approached the mirror, staring past the detective’s reflection, trying to see whomever might be observing on the other side. “I need to know she’s okay.”
“Miss Kelley, yesterday, you were attacked on the street. Today, you claim a priest held a gun to your head. That this same priest tried to shoot you. In a church.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“You have to see why this is so difficult to believe.”
“What?” I turned around.
He stared at me, implacable, expressionless, pen in hand, waiting for something remarkable enough to write down.
“You think I’m lying?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s what you’re implying.”
His chin lifted a fraction as he inhaled slowly. “Explain to me the circumstances of the attack yesterday.”
“I already have!” The echo of my own voice made the ringing in my ears louder. “And I’ve already explained what happened in the church. Tell me how my partner is.”
“Miss Kelley—”
“No. No more. Charge me if you have to.” If they hadn’t already filed a report with my name on it, as soon as my name was entered, I’d have backup. Someone from the Church, or someone from DEMON would be here. Either way, it didn’t matter. Either way, I’d be released. Either way, I could check on her. Sister Betty could be dying. I could be losing her.
She might already be gone.
Nausea swelled within me.
Without moving, the detective stared at me.
I sat in the chair across from him.
Neither of us spoke.
He sighed. “Your partner is fine. She’s being treated for an abrasion and a cracked rib.”
Relief flooded through me with such intensity I thought I might slump onto the table. My voice cracked as I thanked him.
Another knock at the door, and it swung in without hesitation. A short man in government-blue suit that fit better twenty pounds ago nodded at me, shifting his battered brown briefcase to his left hand. “Miss Kelley, you’re free to go.”
The detective stood up. “Who are you?”
Before he’d finished the question, the little man produced a business card with the flick of his fingers. “Agent Cooper Hardin. I’m with the federal Department of Extra-Dimensional, Magical, and Occult Nuisances.”
“Department of…” He scowled, standing. “DEMON?”
“That’s right, and he’s legit, McKenzie.” A uniformed cop appeared behind Agent Hardin, his insignia identifying him as the commander. “And don’t bother Googling that department. It’s one a’ them that doesn’t exist.”
Agent Hardin gave what might have passed for a smile in his world. “They do call it one of the No Such Agencies for a reason.”
I grinned. I’d not met Agent Hardin before, but I could tell I’d like him. The little man had gusto.
“Since there’s no grounds to hold Miss Kelley, she will be leaving. With any, and all, weapons she had on her person.”
“Of course.” The commander’s jaw twitched.
“But sir,” the detective who’s name I’d not bothered remembering tried to protest.
The commander shook his head. As he approached, I glimpsed his nametag. R. Albert. He stuck his hand out, thin skinned and flecked with dark spots. Far older than the man it was attached to. “Miss Kelley, my apologies. My team does their best to protect New Orleans, and we appreciate your…unique expertise, no matter how poorly we show it.” His drawl made the city’s name into something more exotic and vaguely foreign. Combined with the sincerity in his eyes, I lost the conviction of my irritation.
“Of course. If I’d been here in any professional capacity, I’d have come to introduce myself.” Probably not true, but it sounded good. I needed to get better with that professional courtesy thing.
“Of course.” His smile hinted that he knew better. “Our city hasn’t been easy on your kind lately. I’m hoping you can help us change that.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I said.
“Glad to hear it.”
The death knell of my vacation rang in the familiar laughter behind me.
“Caitlin, we’d best be on our way to see Bridgit before visiting hours are over. There’ll be plenty of time to chat later.” Father Callahan leaned against the doorway, one leg crossed in front of the other, arms crossed. His grin showcased his unnaturally white teeth. When I first met him, I assumed him a monster in disguise because of those teeth. All the better to eat me with.
I agreed. Commander Albert led us out, talking all the way, though I didn’t listen. Father Callahan talked enough for both of us. No one ever noticed who contributed to the conversation when he was around. Except Sister Betty.
No one could hide from her.
11
“I told you,” Sister Betty grumbled, “I’m fine. I’ll be out as soon as they let me.”
Father Callahan laughed. “Such a patient patient.”
With a scowl, she thumped the bed in frustration. “I came to help, and I can’t do that from here.”
“You did help,” I said. “I’d probably be dead without you.” Even though I’d suspected Father Robicheau, I’d gone to the St. Louis Cathedral unarmed. Alone. Stupid. And because I was stupid, she’d gotten shot.
&n
bsp; At least she hadn’t lectured me.
“You’d have figured out some way out of it. You always do.” She shifted and winced. “Besides, based on the message Marty left, you were already on the right track. I called the police on the way to Saint Louis Cathedral from the airport when he told me you were headed there on your own.”
“They took their time showing up.”
“That they showed up at all is a little surprising,” Father Callahan said. “At least before the gunshot.”
“No, they didn’t.” I looked at Sister Betty, waiting for her agreement. He fired before the cops showed up.
“They were on the premises. The gunshot was…” Father Callahan shrugged and waved a hand, “incentive to hurry.”
I rolled my eyes. Father C never missed a detail, or failed to point out the minutiae. Sister Betty interjected before words made it out of my open mouth. “Regardless, Robicheau’s in custody, and with the evidence we presented, I don’t think we’ll have to worry much about him.”
Father Callahan shrugged. “Legal will take over.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?”
“Timing.” Sister Betty shrugged and put her hand over her wound. “We thought we’d figured it out and immediately got on a plane. By the time we landed, Marty’d left his message and you were en route to the cathedral.”
“And we need to talk about the letter.”
Sister Betty avoided looking at me. “We will, but not now. That dog is still out there, and there’s the creature you saw in the airport.” She waved her hand as if dismissing the thought. “But the dog first. You shouldn’t be wasting time here.”
“I’m no closer to figuring out how to catch it.”
“Yet another reason I’m here, pigeon.” Goosebumps rippled across my skin as our eyes met. “Even before the Robicheau thing, Marty and I were exchanging research about it. Of course, everything I brought’s still at the church.”
“I’ll go get it. Marty’s resting at to the hotel. The knock on the head last night laid him low.”
“Call me as soon as you have it. We have several things we need to discuss.”
“I don’t like you going alone.” Father Callahan crossed his legs and slipped a hand into his jacket, pulling out a pack of gum.
“Do you have a better option?” It sounded far more sarcastic than I intended.
With slow, deliberate movements, he removed a piece, unwrapped it, and popped the unnaturally blue confection in his mouth. “No, I don’t.”
“They’re probably still processing the scene, so the place’ll be crawling with cops.” I forced a grin. “It’ll be the safest place in the city as long as I keep my mouth shut.”
Sister Betty laughed, the sound cut short with a grunt. “So we’re banking on miracles now?”
Father Callahan laughed, too. “Now I really don’t want you going by yourself.”
The tension drained out of the room. “I’ll be fine,” I said, repeating her words. “I can handle New Orleans at night, and I’ll behave myself. I promise. Besides, as long as I’m not dying, the dog shouldn’t be a threat.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Sister Betty interrupted.
“The letter said…”
“I know,” she said, her cheeks flaming red as she picked at the blanket.
Words failed me. First, she’d kept the assignment secret, though she’d known it was coming. Then, the letter from the Pope about the dog, and now, the part that assured I’d be safe, the most critical part, wasn’t true? “What about it isn’t true?” Accusation rang in each syllable.
Father Callahan sat forward, propping his arms on his crossed legs. “Now, Caitlin, the letter came from the Vatican—”
“From a man who hates me and would excommunicate me if he could find an excuse. If there’s some risk related to facing this creature, I have a right to know.”
“You do,” Callahan said with frustrating calm.
“I’m not hearing it.”
“Because you’re not letting anyone explain!” Sister Betty’s raised voice shocked us both. “It might attack the living. There’s historical precedent, though I can’t remember all the details, but if it goes that far, it’s almost impossible to contain. Combined with the sheer volume of non-corporeal dead that are part of the city’s economy—”
“Right. Dog goes nuts, we’re all in deep.” Crossing my arms, I asked, “What do I do to stop it?”
“You,” Sister Betty said, “can’t.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s not as simple as you think. We need—”
“If I can’t stop it, then it can’t be stopped, right?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what? You’re not making sense.”
“You’re not listening, Caitlin, because you don’t want to hear.” Father Callahan tried to be the voice of reason, but I kept my eyes on the woman in the bed. The woman I depended on for information, for advice and insight. The woman I trusted with my life.
“Who can stop it?”
She lifted her chin and stared back at me, unflinching now. “A volunteer.”
“What?”
“The Black Dog—”
“I’m not asking you, Father. I’m asking her.”
“It’s attracted to death, Caitlin,” she said softly, “so to lure it in, someone has to die.”
“Bullshit.”
“Language.”
I ignored him.
“This city is full of dead and dying people. Don’t tell me—”
“It has to be a volunteer,” she snapped, as if critiquing me through grueling routines. The trainer voice. “Death will attract the Black Dog, and the volunteer will lead it to Helen. But the volunteer will need help to avoid…crossing over. You’ll be that beacon.”
“No.” Not another death. Not another risk like that. I pushed the roil of anxiety down hard. “There has to be another way.”
Sister Betty shook her head. “There isn’t.”
“But it hasn’t attacked the living.” I could find some other way of capturing the dog. Surely Marty had come up with something in his research. He’d done it before; he’d do it again.
“We can’t wait for that, Caitlin,” she said softly.
I heard it in her words. A note of sadness. Resignation. Maybe loss. Her eyes glistened with the unshed swell of tears. My heart fell to my feet. “No.”
“It’s not your choice.” Unbearable compassion glowed in her smile.
Losing Sister Betty would be nothing like watching a stranger in Rome devoured by the huge, fanged and tentacled monsters she’d called forth from the Tiber River. I couldn’t save Shannon, but I could save Sister Betty. I refused watch someone else die. Someone I loved. Without her, who would I be? How would I face the fight every day?
My chest ached.
Sister Betty couldn’t volunteer. She couldn’t die.
I wouldn’t survive it.
“We’ve done the research, Caitlin.”
“Not enough,” I said, standing up, wheeling on Father Callahan. “If anything happens to her before I get back, I’m holding you responsible.”
“You’re overreacting. This is—”
The closing door cut off his words as I stormed out of the room and down the hospital hallway. I would find another way.
“Your bedside manner needs work.”
“I asked how you were feeling.”
“With such tenderness and compassion.” Marty shifted his laptop to the other side of the bed. “I’m guessing you talked to Sister Betty?”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “Yeah.”
“I told her you wouldn’t go for it, but she wouldn’t let me volunteer.”
“What the hell?” I looked up and stared at my friend. “Is everyone suicidal?”
Marty slid across the bed toward me, smiling. “It’s not like that.”
“None of you are dying, even if I have to have you all hospitalized for your sa
fety.” I paced the room.
“Pouting isn’t cute on you. Besides, you’re getting all worked up over nothing.”
“Nothing? Nothing? Are you serious?” I ignored the guilt that tore at me when he winced, but I didn’t lower my voice. “Since when is volunteering to die nothing?”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You can’t expect me to be okay with this.”
“Cee—”
“You know how crazy all this sounds, right?”
“Yes, but I’ve read the original texts, or as much of them as I can.”
“You can’t expect me to be okay with this.”
“Will you shut up and listen, please?” The bastard actually smiled like this was nothing. Like Sister Betty wasn’t planning to die to lure the damned Black Dog to the woman who’d lost the damned thing in the first place.
I turned my back to him.
“Since nightmares have been keeping me awake anyway, I’ve been researching. I found a couple of texts that took on similar situations where the Black Dog went rogue. First, there’s diary of a nobleman in Ireland in the 1100’s, O' Donnchadha or something, that outlined a ritual of sacrifice that stopped the problem. How it started then isn’t clear, but word seems to have traveled. The same ritual is referenced in a French book, La Fleur de Chien Noir, or ‘The Black Dog Flower’ written the last time this happened in a province in northern France around the time of the plague. Widespread death set the Black Dog into something like a frenzy, and it attacked the living.”
“It hasn’t done that yet. Not even any sightings.”
“Look at you being a little goth Pollyanna,” he said with a grin. “Nice bright side, babe.”
“Shut up.”
“But, you’re right. We’re not facing that problem. Yet.”
“Then why are we going for the nuclear option?” I crossed my arms.
Marty pretended not to be exasperated. “Okay, we’ll play this game.” Reaching for a tablet, he kept talking. “With a population constantly in flux, a variety of supernatural communities, and almost as many powerful dead amplified by the power nexus here, it’s a matter of time before it happens.” He showed me maps of New Orleans with bright color-coded overlays and cemeteries outlined in bold black orders. “And it may have happened since the plague, but historical records are imperfect, at best, especially if it happened under the cover of some major catastrophe, like war.”
A New Templars Page 8
