Angel Dance: A Shadow Council Case Files Novella: Quest for Glory Part 3

by John G. Hartness

  His chest and abdomen were ripped open, not by a knife or anything that would leave a clean slice, but by something jagged, something tearing. The front section of his ribcage was ripped from his body and flung at the front door so hard it shattered into pieces no larger than a finger bone. His heart and entrails were removed from his body and placed on the altar to Marie Laveau, his heart’s blood smeared over the painting of the Voodoo Queen that sat in an alcove in the store. Alexander’s intestines were piled on the altar in a slimy heap, a bastardized offering to the Queen, defiling both her store and her altar.

  Worst of all was his head. Whatever had killed Alexander had ripped his head from his body, taking part of the spine and esophagus with it. This gruesome trophy, with eyes wide and mouth fixed in a permanent scream of agony, was given a place of pride atop the cash register, jammed down over the plastic and metal construct hard enough to be immobilized on the makeshift stand.

  I reached out and closed his eyes, my one concession to human sentiment. Otherwise, the horrible scene affected me not at all. It was far from the first time I had seen dismembered bodies, some of them at my own hand. This was not my work, though. This was not the work of any human, either. The sheer strength required to pull someone’s head from his shoulders is immense, only possible for someone with strength born of the deaths of many men, or the souls of thousands.

  I took a deep breath, letting all the scents of the bookstore-turned-abattoir fill my nose. There it was, underneath the blood and the shit and the guts—sulfur. The stench of the Pits confirmed my suspicions. This was the work of a demon. I wondered briefly if this was connected to the attack on me that afternoon, then pushed all thoughts of investigation aside.

  More pressing business demanded my attention—Madison’s safety. I twisted and turned my way through the narrow shop and emerged into the small cobblestone courtyard.

  I walked over to where Madison sat with three security guards around her. The one who traveled with me held and stroked her hand while two others stood over her shoulders, their heads on a swivel.

  “Madison, we have to leave,” I said, standing over her.

  She looked up at me, her eyes red-rimmed. “Where can we go, Adam? I won’t be safe anywhere. Whatever hurt Xander got through all my wards, got past my threshold, everything.”

  That was impressive. Threshold magic is old magic, powerful, and not many magicians today can create it, especially in a public place like a store. But Madison was not like many magicians, and that may be the only thing that would keep her alive.

  “You have to leave, and you have to leave now, Maddie. That thing was not after Alexander; it was after you. We should not mince words, so I will not call it a thing. We should just call it for what it is. It is a demon, Maddie. I fought a Knight of Hell this afternoon, and barely survived, and now there is another demon in New Orleans, and it means to kill you. So come with me if you want to live.”

  12

  It was either my persuasive argument or my uncharacteristic popular culture reference, but Madison agreed to leave the city with me. Her security team, who she referred to as members of her congregation, provided us with a battered passenger van and a pair of armed escorts. We rolled north out of the city in a twenty-five-year-old Ford van with “2nd Antioch Missionary Baptist Church, Metairie, LA” emblazoned on the side in faded white script letters. I drove, Madison rode in the front bench seat behind me, and one of her “congregation members” rode shotgun. Literally, as he carried a pump-action shotgun and a scowl. The other congregant sat on the rear seat facing out the big back window with an AK-47 on the seat beside him and enough ammunition to invade Lichtenstein.

  I have been to Lichtenstein many times. It is a lovely country but offers very little in the way of military might. It is quite possible that I could invade the country with an old van and two armed men by my side. Having a witch along with us would just be overkill.

  We rode north for several hours, until my passengers were all fast asleep. I remained perfectly alert, as I require very little sleep. I was unable to contact Evangeline or any of her people, but Dennis assured me that he had a lock on her position, and as long as we made it to her camp before sunrise, she would still be there. While speaking with him, I asked that he maintain surveillance on Jermaine while I was gone, just in case our predator went after him in my absence. I had no reason to believe the musician was in danger, but in light of recent events, I felt justified in being overly cautious.

  So it was that I pulled an antique church van up in front of what appeared to be an old bootlegger’s or smuggler’s cabin deep in the swamps of Louisiana in the predawn glow. I stopped the van, and my cargo came awake with a groan. I rolled down my window, and the thick scent of swamp moss and over-still water rankled my nose. The early morning sounds of bullfrogs and owls echoed through the clearing, and I heard a small splash as something dropped into the water nearby.

  “Oh sweet Jesus on the cross, Adam, why did you let me fall asleep?” Madison groaned from behind me. She grinned at me and stretched, the bones along her spine crackling with stiffness and age.

  “I was not in a position to stop you, Madison,” I replied. “Besides, you needed your rest. You had quite the shock last night.”

  “You can say that again,” she replied, her smile vanishing. The two gunmen got out of the van and fanned out in opposite directions, guns held low and heads sweeping from side to side. I thought about calling out to them, but decided to let them test their training and ability against that of a sleeping nun. I have often been accused of having no sense of humor, but I found the concept of Sister Evangeline disarming two militaristic members of a voodoo cult hilarious.

  Perhaps I simply have a more well-developed sense of humor than most people.

  A series of thuds and a small crack came from one side of the shack, and I opened my door and slid out to the ground. “Don’t kill them, Evangeline,” I called out. “It’s Adam. They’re with me.”

  “Shit, cher,” a rich voice said from behind the shack. “I been out here nine days and ain’t been able to kill anything. I was hoping a little voodoo thug blood be what I needed for gatorbait.”

  A minute later a striking woman came around the corner with one of Madison’s security draped across her shoulders. Sister Evangeline dumped the unconscious man on his back in the front yard of the cabin and shot me a grin. I smiled back, unable to help myself. Evangeline was a lovely woman, with skin the color of coffee with two creams, long black curly hair, and almond-shaped violet eyes that told the story of her mixed African, French, Asian, and something indeterminate heritage like a roadmap of the world.

  She was a tall woman with broad shoulders. Strongly built, she had little trouble carrying the unconscious man and her ever-present twelve gauge at the same time. She was dressed for the swamp in high mud boots and a tattered t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail. She walked over to me and wrapped her arms around my waist, squeezing tightly.

  “It’s good to see you again, you big idiot,” she said into my chest.

  I felt a warmth suffuse me at her words, and I returned her hug, albeit much more lightly. I am not known for my approachability, and I am far from what one would consider a “hugger,” but Evangeline cared nothing for that, or for anyone’s personal space. If she wanted to hug you, you were getting hugged. And at that moment, I was very definitely getting hugged.

  After a brief moment, she stepped back and extended her hand to Madison. “Ms. Laveau, I’m Sister Evangeline. I’m the Hunter for this region.”

  Madison cocked her head to the side and looked Evangeline up and down. “How you know my last name, girl?”

  “Like I said, I’m the Hunter for dese parts, ma’am. I make it my business to know everybody in my city.” The two women looked at each other for a long time, and I got the distinct feeling that something was passing unsaid between them, but I neither knew nor cared.

  “Evie,” I said, and Evangeline’s head
snapped around at my uncharacteristic use of her nickname. “We need your help. There is a demon in New Orleans, and it’s after Madison.”

  “Could you be a tad more specific, cher? Is this a new demon, or is this one of the regulars?” Evangeline asked.

  I will admit, I was taken aback by the question and had to blink a few times to collect myself. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You have regular demons?”

  “Well, not in the sense that they customers or something, like I run a bar, but there’s some demons that live in the city, yeah. One runs a tattoo parlor out by the airport, but he ain’t nowhere near strong enough to make you run out of town, even if he decided to stop tattooing and start harvesting the old-fashioned way. Then there’s a couple in the Quarter, but they mostly just pouring beers or playing jazz. One’s a hooker at the casino, but she’s just a run-of-the-mill succubus. I reckon couldn’t none of the local demons make you nervous, much less leave town. I reckon that makes this a new one.”

  I looked at Evangeline, not quite understanding how to proceed. A Hunter, a Knight Templar, with demons living in her city, and she allows them to remain? She saw the confusion writ large upon my face and laughed.

  “Oh good Lord himself, Adam, cut a girl some slack. These demons just want out of Hell. They ain’t causing no trouble. Not like whatever got you so riled up. So tell me, what brings the son of Frankenstein and the granddaughter of Marie Laveau out to the swamp to chase down one stupid ol’ nun?”

  I explained the situation, how I believed a sorcerer or demon murdered Oliver, the attack on me at Jermaine’s house, Alexander’s dismemberment, and how I brought Madison to her for protection. When I was finished, Evangeline looked up at me, shaking her head.

  “Man, Adam, that Quincy Harker, he get you into some of the stupidest things. You must really feel like you owe him something.”

  I nodded, then said, “It is much more to do with what I owe his uncle, but yes, I do owe Harker and the Shadow Council a debt.”

  “And I owe one to you, so I reckon this is where you call dat in,” she said with a rueful smile.

  “I was of the hope that you would help me because it was the right thing to do, not to balance any ledgers between us,” I replied.

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night, you big ox.” But she smiled when she said it, a genuine smile this time, full of the warmth I had come to expect from the salty monster-hunting nun. “I’ll keep an eye on the voodoo princess, but you got to help me finish something first. I can’t dedicate no time to looking out for her while I still got a man-eating gator in these swamps.”

  “You want me to hunt an alligator with you?” I asked. I will admit to feeling a slight thrill at the idea. I had never battled an alligator but had always had immense respect for the creatures. Nearly unchanged for eons, the alligator has always been a fascinating creature to me. Their muscled bodies, their armored skin, it all combined to form a brilliant hunting machine. I found myself looking forward to engaging one of these legendary beasts.

  “Yeah, and to be honest, I might need you with me,” the nun replied. “I found the wreck of an airboat this beastie got hold of yesterday, and it was pretty wrecked. Last I heard, there were three old swamp rats going out lookin’ for this bad boy the day before I got here, and by the looks of this boat, they found him. Or he found them, rather. There weren’t enough left of any of them boys to Carbon-14 date, and unless you can match dental records to three teeth, we ain’t ever gonna be sure if it’s them, but I found an airboat tore into half a dozen pieces and painted with blood, and one old Caterpillar boot with a foot and ankle still in it. That’s all that was left of them boys. Made me think this critter might be more than I can handle on my own.”

  That was a sobering thought. Evangeline had been the Hunter for the Gulf Coast region for more than a decade, and I had known her to battle vampires, lycanthropes of all variety, shades, ghouls, more zombies than a season of The Walking Dead extras, and at least one banshee. All without batting an eye. If this alligator was giving her pause, it would certainly be a challenge.

  “I will be more than happy to assist you, but we need to make sure that Madison will be safe here without our protection,” I said.

  “She oughta be fine,” Evangeline said. “I don’t know how you found me, much less how anyone else would get to this place.”

  “I have some…unusual resources,” I replied. She gave me a questioning look, but I did not elaborate. Dennis was a very useful associate, but I felt that his peculiar existence may be objectionable to the Church, and Evangeline was, after all, a nun.

  “Well, your resources must be pretty damn unusual indeed,” she agreed. “‘Cause this place ain’t on no maps, or no property records, and my cell phone oughta be untraceable. Evidently not, though.”

  I did not reply. I merely turned to Madison. “What do you think? Can this shack be defended with only two men?”

  Evangeline held up a hand. “Hold up a second before you answer that.” She turned to go into the small building and waved for us to follow her.

  We did, and once we were inside the shack, many of my doubts about the security of the small patch of swampland faded away. What appeared from the outside to be a one-room shack was, in fact, the top floor of a multi-level reinforced concrete bunker, complete with metal blast shutters to close over the windows, sealable airlock hatches separating the floors, and a front door worthy of a bank vault. On the lowest level was a command center with multiple displays showing views of the entire perimeter from hidden security cameras; an armory with a full complement of guns, blades, and one rocket launcher; and shelves with enough food to last for at least a month.

  Madison looked up at me and said, “Somehow I think we’ll be just fine.”

  I turned to Evangeline. “Then we can go hunt your killer alligator, then I can return to New Orleans and hunt a killer demon.”

  She laughed and said, “Adam, I don’t know if you really are immortal, but I swear you keep running with that Harker boy and you damn sure gonna find out. Let’s go get us a gator.”

  13

  The brownish green water rippled out from the sides of the airboat as Evangeline steered us into the narrow channel. I glanced behind us to see the reeds already popped back into place and the wake dying to leave no hint of our passing except the silence of the birds and the frogs behind us. Spanish moss hung down from huge live oak trees, masking the snakes that undoubtedly nestled above us, just waiting to drop from the branches onto our unsuspecting heads and necks. Every ripple in the water was a moccasin, every splash another alligator. The mosquitos were the size of small birds, and not for the first time I was very happy that my blood did not flow normally.

  We delved into the heart of the swamp for nearly an hour before Evangeline cut the engine and allowed us to drift. “This is where the monster was last seen,” she said, standing up from her pilot’s seat and hefting her shotgun. “I don’t see no sign of it, but I reckon if it heard our boat, it’ll take it a minute or two to come looking after us.”

  I scanned the water for ripples, knowing nothing better to do. I have never been an aquatic creature. My mass makes it difficult for me to float, and I do not disrobe in public for fear of frightening crowds, so trips to the beach have never been my chosen vacation. I can swim if need be, but as I do not require breath for anything other than speech, if I must traverse a body of water, oftentimes I simply walk across the bottom.

  A splash from behind and to my left caused me to spin around, bringing my own shotgun to bear on the sound. Evangeline laughed, a deep, throaty sound full of mirth, but no malice.

  “It’s alright, cher,” she said, her voice cutting through the muggy air like a knife. “Just chumming the waters, as they say.”

  I looked at her and saw her with one hand deep in a white five-gallon bucket at her feet. She pulled her hand out, and I saw it held a fistful of entrails. I gave her a questioning look.

  “Pig guts, cher. How we gonna catch
a predator if we ain’t got no bait? Unless you want to jump in the water and splash around a little bit?” She grinned and lobbed the mass of innards into the water on the other side of the boat.

  “Have you any concern with attracting other predators too numerous to handle?” I asked.

  “Nah, baby,” she said, an easy smile playing across her lips. “Anything stupid enough to share the water with a black gator gonna get eat up real fast, so we either gonna get some little nasties, which I figure we can handle easy enough, or we gonna get one great big nasty, and that might take more work.” She flicked on the flashlight slung under the barrel of her Mossberg and pointed the gun back at the water. The flashlight’s beam only penetrated a few inches into the swamp water, the brown and greens of muck and algae too much for the sharp, blue-white light.

  We drifted, listening for any sign of the man-eater, following the gentle currents of the swamp for nearly an hour before Evangeline waved a hand at me. I looked where she was pointing and saw nothing but an enormous rock protruding from the surface of the brackish water. I peered around the boulder for any sign of the gator, then started when the boulder itself opened one eye and cast a baleful gaze at us. The head, easily six feet long, rotated around, and the massive creature heaved itself to its feet. At least twelve feet of alligator loomed above the surface of the water, with none of the tail visible.

  “Mary, Mother of God,” I heard Evangeline whisper behind me.

  I turned to her and said, in all sincerity, “I think we’re going to need a bigger boat.”

  “And bigger guns,” she replied with a nod.

  “And perhaps a tank,” I agreed.

  The gator slid into the water, moving with surprising speed and silence for such a massive creature. Its tail coursed through the water, and I could see that it was at least as long as the rest of the alligator. We had somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-five feet of massive, toothy lizard swimming toward us, and two shotguns with which to handle it. I felt uneasy about our chances, and by the look on her face, so did Evangeline.