Penumbra (The Midnight Society #2)

by Logan Patricks

  “The Christian faith believes in spirits as well,” Isadora pointed out, “The holy spirit being at the center of Christianity.”

  “The lady’s got a point,” Beau said. “The Christian faith does have its savior preaching about eating his body, drinking his blood, and rising from the dead. That’s some crazy vampire shit.”

  “I’ll continue to ignore you,” Lincoln sighed, turning his attention back to Isadora. “I don’t think it can be done, forging a business empire with the type of belief you’re offering.”

  Isadora scowled, not impressed by Lincoln’s skepticism. “Scientology believes that evil alien overlord spirits inhabit your body. The key to getting rid of them is to pay them hundreds of thousands of dollars,” she stated. “They are very wealthy.”

  Lincoln paused for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. “Well Isadora, you got me there. I retract my statement. I guess there is room for a venture into a business of the religious nature. My boss can be convinced.”

  Isadora smiled. “Then it is agreed,” she said as she turned to my direction. “Lucy will participate in one of my private voodoo blessings. Once she’s experienced my faith, the Midnight Society will become the benefactor of my religious expansion. In return, I shall deliver you three million dollars out of my own pocket.”

  “Those terms are acceptable, with the exception of Lucy being involved in one of your voodoo ceremonies,” Lincoln replied, “Especially without me being there.”

  Isadora shook her head. “Those are the terms. I will not do business with an organization that does not believe in what I have to offer.”

  “What if I took her place?” Beau asked.

  Isadora shook her head. “No,” she replied. “It has to be her.”

  She seemed hell-bent on using me for whatever strange ritual she had planned. I was nervous.

  However if this was the only way for Lincoln to get what we needed—

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  “Lucy?” Lincoln had a look of concern on his face. He was about to say something, but I hushed him.

  “I said I’ll do it,” I replied.

  “You don’t have to,” he said. “I’m sure there’s another way.”

  I shook my head. Isadora looked like a woman who had made up her mind. I knew there was no way in hell that was going to change.

  “You’re sure about this?” Lincoln asked.

  I nodded.

  “Splendid then,” Isadora said as she rose from her seat and extended her hand to me. That was when Beau whispered in my ear—though in a tone that was still audible for everyone in the room.

  “Don’t let her shake your hand. If she scrapes your skin cells underneath her fingernails, she can use it to construct a voodoo doll and stab you in your sleep.”

  Isadora looked at Beau as if he had a set of nuts growing out from under his chin.

  I had to admit, Beau had me a little scared. I scrunched my hand into a fist and pointed it at her.

  “Fist bump?” I asked.

  Isadora shot me an angry look too. “Whatever,” she replied, ignoring my fist entirely, clearly offended. “You can ask Delilah for a wedding invitation on the way out. Come three hours before. Now if you would excuse me…”

  She didn’t bother finishing her sentence. I could tell she wanted us to leave as soon as possible.

  “Good night,” Lincoln said, doing his best to stay in her good graces.

  She nodded, without saying a word.

  Before we left the Voodoo Shop, we stopped by Delilah, whose warm smile was as welcoming as the afternoon sun in comparison to Isadora’s icy glare.

  “We were told to pick up a wedding invitation?” Lincoln asked.

  “Oh, of course,” she said as she reached underneath the counter and pulled out a big, golden envelope sealed with red wax. “I’m so glad you folks are coming. It’s going to be one amazing night.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Beau said as he leaned forward, “especially if you’ll be there.”

  Delilah pushed him back with one index finger, a smile still on her face. “Why of course I’ll be there silly. I am getting married after all.”

  Beau sighed as he removed himself from her personal space. “What a shame,” he replied. “And suddenly another prize fish is removed from the sea.”

  “I’ll see you at the wedding,” she smirked.

  “Congratulations,” Lincoln said to Delilah, just before we left. “Love is a beautiful thing to find.”

  And it was a tragic thing to lose as well, I thought to myself.

  For the most part, we walked back to Beau’s place in silence. It wasn’t until our feisty Cajun opened his mouth that sparks started to fly.

  “Five million return,” he said as he rubbed his stubbly chin. “I think ol’ Donald would have been proud of me.”

  Lincoln shook his head. “He would have called you an idiot,” he snapped back.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “That money was a safety net for the Midnight Society. The purpose of it was to be available to us if and when we needed it,” Lincoln said. “But instead of keeping it safe and sitting on it—which was your only task—you got bored and decided to hand it over to the Kingpin of Crime in New Orleans.”

  “Relax Mr. Sparrow,” Beau said. “We’re getting the money back, aren’t we?”

  “We are, but at what cost now?” Lincoln asked. “We’re locked into a partnership with a woman who, according to rumors, is a ruthless psychopath that dabbles in pagan magic for her side job.”

  “For all we know, voodoo could be legit.”

  “I’m not disputing that,” Lincoln said as he stopped dead in his tracks. He turned and looked Beau straight in the eye. “The bottom line is, you’re incompetent and if your dad were alive to see you now, he’d slap you upside the head.”

  For the first time since our first meeting, I saw anger creep across Beau’s face that was directed towards us. It was rather unsettling.

  “I don’t appreciate the noise that’s coming out of your mouth.”

  “Too bad,” Lincoln replied.

  The tension between the two was strong enough to catapult a cow into space. Perhaps it was time for me to step in before their testosterone took complete control of their brain cells and they started eating each other’s fists.

  “Let’s just leave this alone. Beau, you made a bad judgment call, but no harm done,” I replied. “I’m certainly not one who should judge someone else’s bad decisions.”

  I bit my lip as I recalled that night when I told Justin everything I knew about the Midnight Society.

  The punishment for violating the sanctity of our little secret is death—to you and the person you divulge to, Calisto had warned me. If only I wasn’t so naïve back then and I had taken that warning seriously.

  “Here’s where you’re wrong pretty girl,” Beau said. “I didn’t make a bad judgment call. The way I see it, we have an extra two million to use for the resurrection of this clubhouse of ours along with a powerful new ally. With the reputation Isadora has—Mr. Friday has—you don’t think the bad guys will think twice before they take a run at us?”

  Lincoln shook his head and began walking again, clearly frustrated. “You don’t get it,” he said. “The Midnight Society isn’t about aligning ourselves with the most dangerous person out there. It’s about keeping people we can trust.”

  “Well ain’t that a funny thing then,” Beau began, “Seeing as how I heard Shadow’s own sister was the one who crushed the Midnight Society.”

  Lincoln didn’t respond.

  We stopped just outside of the Angel’s Trumpet. Beau fished into his pockets for the key to his store.

  “And here’s another question for you, Mr. Sparrow,” Beau said as he unlocked the door. “Who the hell are you really? For someone who says they’re just a runner for the Midnight Society, you seem to have a lot of influence in regards to the high level decision making that needs to be done. I think yo
u’ve been lying to me all this time.”

  Once inside, Lincoln waited for the door to close behind him before he pulled out his gun and pointed it at Beau.

  I was stunned.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “My name is Lincoln Richards,” he said, ignoring my question, “And as promised, I have delivered myself to you.”

  The look on Beau’s face was unmistakable—pure, unhinged anger.

  Suddenly I had a bad feeling that when the door of the Angel’s Trumpet opened again, not all of us were walking out of there alive.

  Chapter Twenty

  Aria

  “Like I said before, I knew your father well,” Lincoln said. “He was a good man. However, I wasn’t the one who murdered him.”

  Beau held his tongue, despite looking very pissed.

  “Your father was shot and killed by Calisto Tremaine,” Lincoln said. “I was there when it happened. I watched him die, and there was nothing I could do to stop her.”

  “Your prints were all over the gun that killed my dad along with his friends,” Beau seethed. “You’re telling me that you didn’t kill any of them?”

  Lincoln shook his head. “I did kill them. I shot James and Brevin,” he admitted. “And honestly, if Calisto hadn’t killed Donald first, there’s a good chance I would have shot him too.”

  “You’re a stone-hearted fucking killer cocksucker,” Beau spat.

  “That I am,” Lincoln replied as he swallowed hard. “And I wish to God I wasn’t.”

  Lincoln’s hands were shaking.

  The man standing before me and pointing a gun at Beau wasn’t the same man that had spent the last two weeks consoling me, gluing together all the broken fragments of my being with his unwavering strength.

  No, the man that stood before me now looked tired, finally worn down by the guilt locked away. I had a feeling that Lincoln was going to do something incredibly dumb unless I stepped in.

  “Don’t be stupid Lincoln,” I cried out. Not the best choice of words to console an unhinged man, but it was to the point. “You didn’t kill anyone. It was all Calisto.”

  Lincoln shook his head, a single tear trickling down his cheek. The only other time I seen Lincoln cry was at the Inferno, after he had pulled the trigger of the revolver, delivering a bullet into James Takeshi’s skull.

  “I didn’t have to play Calisto’s game,” Lincoln said, his gun still pointed at Beau. “I could have refused, and then perhaps one of them would have walked away alive.”

  “You would have been killed,” I pointed out.

  “They were better men,” Lincoln said. “I accumulated my wealth through lies and lady luck—whereas the others worked hard for it. Any of them would have been better leading this crusade we’re on.”

  I turned to Beau “This man was not responsible for your father’s death,” I said. “The weight of that falls on Calisto. Do you hear me?”

  Beau looked unmoved.

  “I know you want justice for your dad,” Lincoln said. “I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, but I would have done it just the same. It was only circumstance that Calisto killed him before I could.”

  Lincoln suddenly lowered his gun, and opened up the chamber, emptying out all the bullets save for one. He spun the chamber, and then snapped it shut again.

  “These were the odds given to the men that died that night,” Lincoln said as he handed the pistol over to Beau, who took it without hesitation. “If you’re still convinced I’m responsible for their murders, I’ll give you one shot. There might be a bullet flying out of that barrel when you pull the trigger, or it could be empty. But one shot is all I’m giving you. No hard feelings after.”

  “Lincoln, are you crazy?” I asked.

  He looked at me and smiled. “Just about,” he replied. “But we’ve all been a little crazy lately, haven’t we? If that one-in-six chance plays in Beau’s favor, I need you to finish the job we came here to do.” Lincoln wiped the tears from his eyes. “You’re not the same girl I first saw at Shadow’s party. You’re different now and I get the feeling you can stand toe-to-toe with just about anyone in this world. Get the money, deliver it to Shadow and…” he paused as he took a deep breath. “Take Calisto down. Make her pay for what she’s done.”

  “Lincoln, you can’t be serious,” I said. I needed to talk some sense into him. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes I do,” he replied. “If a higher power thinks I should be punished for my crimes, then so be it. However if forgiveness is in my cards, then I’ll move on from this. I’ll wash my hands of all their blood.”

  He turned to Beau. “Now what are you waiting for? Pull the trigger you bastard.”

  Beau raised the gun and aimed it straight at Lincoln’s head, his eyes filled with fire and ash. He pursed his lip as his finger rested against the trigger of the gun.

  My heartbeat reverberated through my body and up into my throat. I tried to say something, but I was at a loss for words.

  “Fire the damn gun, bastard.” Lincoln was taunting Beau now.

  I prayed that the stars aligned for Lincoln and the odds prevailed in his favor. Five out of six chances he would survive.

  “I could pull the trigger more than once you know,” Beau suddenly said. I felt my stomach drop to the floor. Was Beau that hell bent on killing Lincoln?

  I slowly made a play for my own gun, but before I could draw, Beau pulled out his own firearm and pointed it straight at me.

  “I don’t think so Lucy—if that’s even your real name.”

  “Aria,” I replied. “That’s the name my dad gave me, and if you even think of pulling that trigger, that’s the name you’ll be begging for mercy to while I chop your body up and feed it to the alligators.”

  Beau almost laughed. “And what can a girl like you possibly do?”

  “I’m the Crow Killer,” I replied.

  He turned his head and looked at me, his eyebrows raised.

  “Well shit,” he said, “You’re the Aria the Crow Killer?”

  “She is,” Lincoln said, his eyes turning to me. Was that a look of adoration in his eyes?

  “Listen pumpkin…” Beau began.

  I was quick to interrupt him. “I’m not a fucking pumpkin.”

  “Fine sweet pea…”

  “My name, once again, is Aria, and you can refer me to as that,” I stated, “and not some piece of produce.”

  Beau sighed. “Aria, I have no issues with you,” he said as he lowered his gun. “I have no intention of hurting you, but if you’re thinking about pointing a gun on me, you best be sure you’re willing to pull the trigger.”

  “Aria, leave this matter between us,” Lincoln said. “Please.”

  “You heard the man,” Beau said. “This is an agreement between gentlemen. I will honor that agreement and pull the trigger once, and only once. After that, we are square, regardless of the outcome.”

  “Good,” Lincoln said. “Then do it already you pussy.”

  Beau took a deep breath and closed one eye, lining up his sight.

  Please, let Lincoln live.

  Up until this point, I never realized just how much I needed him in my life. To lose him, like I had lost Justin, would kill me.

  I held my breath and waited for Beau to pull the trigger, listening to the rhythm of Beau’s heavy breaths as his eyes focused on Lincoln’s head.

  He never did fire the gun. Instead, he lowered it.

  “Fuck it,” he said. “You’re an asshole, but it’s not worth shooting you in the head for.”

  Lincoln raised his brow. “That’s it then? We’re square?”

  Beau shook his head. “No, we’re not square,” he replied. “I’m still going to treat you like you’re the world’s biggest cocksucker, and I’ll still work with you but I won’t kill you.”

  “I suppose that’s fair.”

  Beau exhaled. “I think it’s time I went out and got myself a drink,” he said. “If you don’t mind,
I’d rather be alone for a moment.”

  I felt relief wash over me like tranquil waters. Hopefully now, Lincoln would fulfill what he promised, and move past this guilt.

  “Just curious Beau, what would have happened if you shot at me?” Lincoln asked.

  Beau shrugged, pointed the gun to the ceiling and pulled. The sound of gunfire erupted, the bullet tearing through the first floor ceiling, creating a perfect circle.

  “Looks like you’d be dead,” Beau replied as he walked over to Lincoln and shoved the gun back into his hands. “I took it easy on you Mr. Lincoln Richards. If it was Calisto standing in your place, I wouldn’t have hesitated to fire away. She deserves a bullet’s kiss.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Lincoln said.

  Beau nodded. “Good night,” he said as he opened the door to the antique shop and stepped outside, immersing himself in dusk’s orange glow.

  Lincoln lay on the sofa bed which sported a newly constructed bullet hole right dead center of it. He stared at the ceiling, his hands behind his head.

  His face displayed a look of ambivalence, as if what transpired with Beau never happened.

  “Are you finished being stupid now?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Are you done wallowing in your self-inflicted guilt over the deaths of your friends?”

  Lincoln smiled as he rose from the bed and walked over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of scotch along with two glasses.

  “Funny, I could ask you the same thing,” he said as he poured us both a drink. He handed a glass over to me, which I gladly took.

  I definitely needed a stiff drink.

  I felt the alcohol settle in my stomach, permeating a warm afterglow throughout the rest of my body.

  It was funny, I never took to alcohol much—mainly because I could never afford it—until I started partying with Calisto a few weeks ago.

  If I had only known what the bitch was up to then, I could have stopped this all from happening. I could have slipped rat poison in her drinks when she wasn’t looking.

  Lincoln raised his glass to me, and then downed his drink in one shot. He pulled the top off the bottle and poured another into his glass.