The scent of Confederate Jasmine hits me like a brick as I step through the arched trellis gate. The courtyard is overgrown with the vines, and their white flowers shine in the moonlight. There, in the center is a man slumped over, blood pooling on the bricks below him.
I approach slowly, keeping my eyes on him and trying to see if his chest is moving with breath, but I know I’m too late. I stop just inches from his legs, leaning over to look at the wounds when a flash of movement catches my eye. I drop into a fighting stance as my eyes scan the shadowed back corners but I see nothing.
Moving slowly toward where whatever it was had moved, I draw in a deep breath and there beneath the sweet scent of jasmine is something else. Something I haven’t smelled in over two thousand years -- it’s a mix of clean, warm laundry, flowers, and fresh baked cookies. It is Heaven and those from there. While it reminds me of who I once was, it also makes me more wary. The only heavenly beings that could be here are the Fallen. The man had been killed by one of them.
I flex my fingers toward my wrist, feeling the hilt of the blade I keep strapped to my arm. My gaze slides over every inch, but I see nothing until I look at the top of the high stone wall. A huge black cat sits staring down at me. Different colored eyes blazes bright in the darkness. Fucking creepy. “Meow.” I almost laugh at the tiny, high pitched sound that comes from the massive beast.
“Did you see the bitch that did it?” I murmur to it. No response. Not that I expected one. Feeling stupid, I turn on my heel and stride out. Pushing through the crowds once more, I’m three blocks away before I hear the first scream. The body has been found.
I search for the rest of the night, all through the Quarter, but never find another trace. As the sky begins to lighten, I give up and head home to the warehouse district. I nod at the security as I walk across the lobby to the elevator. Punching the button for the third floor, the ride up to the top taking all of ten seconds, I step out impatiently, squeezing through the doors before they are opened fully. I’m in my penthouse in seconds, closing the door just as I hear the only other one opening.
“Hey, man.” I pretend I don’t hear Derek the Douche that lives in the other penthouse.
The door locks automatically as I glance at the security screen. He’s standing at the elevator, his eyes locked on my door. I give him the finger as I stalk to the kitchen. My tablet is on the black quartz countertop. My fingers trace over the glistening flecks reflecting in it. I chose it when I moved in because they reminded me of the stars. Now I wonder if they really reminded me of the heavens.
As soon as I log in, I see I have a message waiting for me. Dagen’s avatar is beside the message. Opening it, I skim through it, my hands gripping the counter tightly. He’d also been patrolling the city and found another kill. His had been a woman though. The picture he took glares at me from the screen; she had been beautiful. Pulling out my phone, I tap his number and put it to my ear, waiting for him to answer.
“It’s getting fucking worse.” He’s angry, and his words are low. I can hear him pacing over the phone. “Any idea why they’re ramping up?”
“None. But I think you need to talk to Boss tomorrow.” I don't elaborate. I want to spill my guts, tell him everything. But I don't really know everything.
“Why?” He is immediately suspicious.
“Just go talk to him. I found a guy tonight, just missed the killer. I know it was one of them.” My fingers tunnel through my hair as I turn toward the windows. “Listen, I’m going to crash for a couple hours and then I’ll be at the office. Meet me there at one.” He agrees, and I hang up.
Heading over to the doors, I open them and let the cool breeze blow in, noticing the flowers growing along my iron railing. Mary, the lady who cleans, must have brought the boxes and flowers. I have to remember to give her extra money this week. It won’t be long before she hangs the huge ferns from the hooks over head. She says she likes to make the place look like a true New Orleans home, and I guess ferns and flowers on the balcony do that.
Leaving the doors open, I head into the bathroom and turn the shower on, setting the water to hot. It only takes a minute for the steam to begin to billow over the glass walls and door. I strip out of my clothes, which smell of stale beer and sweat, and step in, letting the water pour over me. Resting my forearms and head on the light grey tiles, I let the heat wash away the night and the anger.
Twenty-minutes later, I twist the knobs and step out, grabbing a towel off the pile on the little black table to my side. Another one of Mary’s touches -- everything in this room is black and shades of gray. Walking out with the towel around my waist, I pick up the remote and use it to close the room darkening shades. I climb into bed and fall asleep in moments.
My sleep is far from peaceful, although this is nothing new. I can’t remember a night where I haven’t dreamed of either death or the darkness. It took years before I could wake up not covered in sweat or crying out. Often it was my own screams that woke me. Today it was another sound. I blink in the darkness, breathing deep and pulling in the smells around me. A horn honks loudly, and I push up, realizing I left the doors open. I never leave them open. Throwing back the cover, I swing my legs over the side, my feet landing silently on the plush carpet. It hadn’t been traffic that woke me. My hand closes over the sweats that are laying in the red velvet chair beside my bed. Mary again -- this room is crimson. I pull them on as I stand. Just as I’m about to move, “Meow.” I whip around, and there sitting on the chaise that matches the chair is that huge fucking cat. He’s staring at me with his unsettling eyes, his tail whipping back and forth.
“How the fuck did you get in here?” I growl.
He hops down and strolls right by me and then through the door. I’m stunned, frozen in shock for seconds before I stalk after him. I throw the door open, ready to kill.
Nothing.
Gone.
What the fuck is going on?
5
Grace
They will kill me soon. They grow closer to their goal and they know I will not let her die. It doesn’t matter. I’ve grown weary of this place; I long for home.
They could have killed me long ago but they enjoy having me here among them. It is my punishment. If they knew everything, the punishment would be much worse.
Outside my window, Lillian walks the perimeter again. She does it many times a day. I understand; it is the closest to freedom she has ever been, or can remember being, at least. She once had all the freedom a toddler is allowed.
I remember the day she was found. How they found her, I still don’t know. They told me they had found another woman that deserved judgement. That’s what they call what they do; I call it torture and murder. We arrived at the small home in the mountains, thousands of miles from where we are now. At the time, Avalon had been Spain. The trip didn’t take us long. Lillian was playing in the front garden as her mother watched from the front steps, unaware that beautiful death walked her way. A smile lit her face when she saw us approaching, and I wished to warn her, to scream “grab your child and flee,” but I didn’t. I learned long before that day my warnings did more harm than good. So I remained silent as I moved between them and the baby. They tore the woman apart, and when her blood flowed, I understood. The scent of an Archangel bled from the dark liquid.
When they finished with the mother, they turned to the child, who stood by my leg, holding onto me for balance. I saw something on Seraphina’s face that made me go cold. I thought she meant to slaughter the child. I was wrong. Death would have been a kindness to what they did to Lillian. Instead they left her in my care. I gave her her name, choosing Lillian because it meant innocent… pure.
They had found the perfect way to torture us both.
She is stopped underneath the largest oak, her favorite place on the grounds. Her eyes are focused across Saint Charles, but on what, I can’t tell. I watch for a few moments longer until I hear rhythmic clicking of stilettos coming down the hall. I cross the room
quickly meeting her at the door. “Eden.”
She frowns as I shut my door behind my back, the sound of the lock loud in the hall. “Grace. I see you have recovered.” I nod once. “Good, she wishes for you to join us tonight. We leave at dusk. More drunken, sinful people to judge.” She sneers at me before she turns away, her heels clicking on the hardwood. At the top of the stairs, she pauses and looks back. “Don’t be late.”
I don’t bother answering. I wait until she is moving away, down the long hallway toward the kitchen. Running on bare tiptoes down the hall, I climb the stairs to Lillian’s room. Stepping inside, I look around until my eyes land on a notebook. I write her a quick warning. Others are arriving tonight, one who enjoys inflicting pain more than any who reside at Avalon. She must be very watchful until they leave. I wish I could do more, free her, but Seraphina was smart; she bound me. I am unable to get her through the barrier or lower it to let her escape.
This is as much as I can do at the moment. Laying the note down, I glance out the window. She is still standing beneath the tree, still looking out across the street. My brows pull down. What has drawn her attention for so long? Backing away from the window, I rush out of the room and jog down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Doing the same on the next set of stairs, I grip the rail and swing around at the bottom, heading for the front door. I reach it in seconds and throw it open and freeze. He hasn’t seen me thankfully, but I see him.
A demon. A demon has finally found Avalon. His eyes are still locked on Lillian. I step down, my mind made up. “Oh, good. Eager to hunt.” Once again, my muscles freeze at Raphaela’s voice coming from very close behind me. Spinning, I rush back in the door.
“I just need my boots.” Unlike the others, I do not wear heels. Grabbing them, I sit on the bench along the wall and pull the right and then the left on. It takes me a few minutes to lace them up and tie them. Tucking the laces inside the top, I stand just as the others join us in the entryway.
Seraphina looks at me, and I can see the suspicion in her eyes. I do not react. She keeps her eyes on me for a minute longer before she strides out the door. I pray he has gone. I close my eyes as I step through the door before letting my gaze cut to the spot he had been at. It is empty. The breath rushes from my lungs. Eden glances at me sharply, and I jerk my eyes forward. I follow them out to the street, where an Uber is waiting. Really, an Uber? I hope this driver is not their first victim of the night.
We leave him alive and well at the end of Bourbon Street on Canal, and they begin to make their way into the crowd. I trail behind, eyes searching for the demon. We patrol the streets as the parade ends and the party really begins. Late into the night, they find someone they believe deserves their judgement. I don’t think she is the first. I lost sight of half of the group earlier.
“Grace.” My name is sung out of the darkness, and I flinch. I know what she wants and I hate it. I hate the killing. But I can do nothing but move into the shadows. The woman is dead, and they are waiting for me. “You will give in eventually.” My molars grind together as I brace for the pain.
Seraphina’s calm face is the last thing I see before I’m dragged into darkness. I wake up to pain. Lillian’s concerned face comes into focus as I blink. “You have to stop going with them. Fight back. They are going to kill you.” I don’t argue; I know they are. “Why do you stay?” I glance at her face.
“I stay to try to keep them from succeeding,” I whisper. I realize I need to tell her what they are doing. At least part of it. I can’t bring myself to tell her about her part of their plan. “Come close so no one overhears.” She leans down, pretending to clean my wounds. “They are searching for seven girls, seven women. If they find them, all will be lost.” Her eyes widen at my words.
“Why? Who are the women?” I shake my head, feigning ignorance. She sits up and looks over her shoulder at the open door. “What can I do?”
“Nothing, Lilly. You must continue as you always have. Do not draw their attention. You saw my note?”
She nods.
“They will arrive tonight. The one that leads this group is Micheangela. She fell with joy, reveled in the thought of the killing. Stay away from her.”
Lillian nods again but freezes just as approaching footsteps echo from the hall.
“Go. Quickly.” I say.
She jumps to her feet and rushes out the door, and I listen to her steps on the stairs leading to her room.
6
Lillian
They are hunting women.
After shutting my door quietly, I lean back against it. I mean, they’ve always hunted women, but seven specific women? That’s new. Grace’s words echo through my mind. I have no idea what that means, but it is important for her to have told me.
I push off the door and cross to the window to stare out. I can’t see across the street but I don’t need to; I can still picture the man in my mind. I had been looking for the cat, who had been gone when I woke. I don’t know how he got in or out but I was worried one of them had taken him. Killed him.
Instead, as I stood in my favorite spot under the tree, the man had caught my eye across Saint Charles, and there was Captain Jack sitting near him on a fence top. They both were staring at Avalon.
Then their eyes shifted in unison to me. A chill runs down my spine as I remember. Even at the distance, I could tell his eyes were bright blue. I couldn’t move, even though I wanted to run. I stood staring at them for longer than I should have. Turning my head at the sound of voices, I saw Grace standing on the steps, her head turning back to look inside the house, and I panicked. I wanted to wave them away, but when I looked back, they were gone. Both disappeared.
My heart is pounding just thinking about it. Who was he? Bright tattoos had covered his arms. He looked dangerous, but I didn’t feel threatened. I felt... I don’t know... Exhilarated? Intrigued? I’ve never seen anyone study Avalon. No one has ever looked at me with that kind of intensity. Shaking my head, I turn away, heading into the bathroom. I shower quickly and then dress in one of my five outfits. Looking at the worn material, I hope the box of supplies I ordered comes today. I snuck a new outfit into the order. They don’t usually pay attention to what I wear but they would use the purchase as a reason to punish me. I have a scar for every piece of clothing. Everything I have has been earned by my flesh or Grace’s.
I once asked if they’d rather me be naked. It was a mistake. I had been naked for days until Grace brought me more clothing. I know now she was punished for that kindness. Last year, I convinced Seraphina I could order the supplies for the house if I could have a cell phone. She got me the one I have and connected it to internet but didn’t make it so I could call. I have no one to call anyway. I’d never call the police here to be slaughtered. So I shop for them. They leave me lists around the house for things they need. They have closets full of clothing so they never ask for that, which means I have to sneak my things into the household items.
Opening the door, I lean out and listen closely. I don’t hear them so I creep out and walk quietly down the stairs, my feet silent on the smooth polished wood. It’s almost noon, and they should all be resting in their rooms. I make my way down the next set of stairs to the main floor, heading to the kitchen to begin my work that should have been done hours ago. Pulling ingredients, I make them food for the day, cooking Grace her favorite to take up to her.
Running the cloth over the counter, I look around the kitchen. It is spotless, but I still look for anything they might find. Nothing. Folding the rag up, I hang it on the edge of the rack where the dishes are drying. I pick up the tray, carry the food up to Grace’s room, and place it gently on the table by her bed, careful not to wake her. Closing the door, I once again pause to listen, still quiet. At the bottom of the stairs, I’m intent on heading out to the yard but pivot remembering the package. The delivery people know not to ring the bell or knock, so it could already be here.
The box is here on the top step.
St
ruggling to lift it, I straighten slowly and step back inside. I push the door closed quietly and shuffle down the hall to the kitchen. Using a knife to cut open the tape, I open the top and begin to pull things out quickly. The clothes are on the bottom, and I pause, glancing around before pulling them free.
Darting around the island, I race down the short hall to the laundry room and stuff the items into the bottom of the basket, ripping the tags off as I shove them under dirty clothes and towels I have already gathered. My heart is still pounding when I straighten and turn, looking out the doorway and down the hall toward the kitchen. No one is there. I hate that this is my life, the constant fear of punishment. I would fear death but honestly, sometimes I think it would be better that this.
The door closes with a soft snick when I am a few steps away. I didn’t need to close it but I pulled as I passed through a habit of trying to keep any and everything hidden from them. The stuff will be washed later, but for now, I need to be outside, away from the oppressiveness of this house and those that control my life.
Stepping out into the sunlight, I stand on the steps, face turned up to the sun, letting it chase the cold from my body. I wish it would burn away the scars from my soul. Minutes pass as I soak up the heat. February in New Orleans is cool but not cold, but after the heat of the summers, I always feel cold when it is under eighty.
My feet start moving and as my mind wanders, they carry me on my worn path. Muscle memory takes me to the edge of the barrier, where the grass has been flattened under the bare soles of my feet. It isn’t long before I’m parting the Spanish moss curtain and moving under the low curving branches of the oak tree. Like I do every time, I pause and look up into the branches, marveling at the ancientness of it. I lower my face when I feel someone’s eyes on me, and there he is once again. Now instead of across the street, he is on the sidewalk nearest me, just watching me with his bright blue eyes. I’m surprised by the amount of darkness I see in the blueness. Still he doesn’t speak. I feel mesmerized by the other things I see in them. The feeling of pressure on my leg startles me, and I look down. There, winding in and out of my calves is Captain Jack.
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 74
