by Chanel Smith
Then the line went dead.
Veronica closed her phone and stared at the gun. She shivered. It felt like it was staring back at her. She was hesitant to touch it, but she put it back inside the envelope anyway. The feeling seemed to disappear when it was in there. Veronica gathered up her things and headed out into the city.
A few hours later, she walked out of the police station angrier than she had been in days. Detective Meerschaum had been a complete chauvinistic ass who contradicted her on every point she had made and patronized her questions with scattered and hollow answers.
Suffolk Parish had been a complete bust and all it had done was cost her two days and almost a thousand dollars in feedings and lodging. Apparently, the vampires in the tri-state area felt that they could charge Fifth Avenue penthouse prices for the wrist vein of a ratty looking ex drug addict and a stone slab under a drafty mausoleum in a cemetery.
This stinks. Next stop, Savannah.
The night life in Savannah was something Veronica had read a lot about. Enough to know how seasonal it was and that she was too late for St. Paddy’s Day and too early for the summer tourists who flocked to the coast, particularly Tybee Island and its environs. But thanks to Fort Wentworth, there were always tons of soldiers around. There was an active underground kink scene in the city, but it wasn’t anything she considered special. Veronica was dressed in high heels, a corseted top, her reliable leather pants and a matching short leather moto jacket. Her top was cut low enough and laced tight enough that it could garner her any amount of attention; if she wanted it.
She met up with Ricki, Roberta and Riley Vaughan from R3. Rand had said that while tracking down a bail jumper a few months back, Roberta had come across some startling information regarding some strange murders that were happening along the Georgia stretch of Interstate 95. She had done some investigation, which is what the three sisters’ little company was best known for, and had made the link to the Suffolk killings as well as another set in the southwest. She hoped that a few drinks would loosen them up a bit and that she could use whatever additional information the three might have to find out where he was. Frankly, though, she’d take any information she could get her hands on.
They made their way to a local bar that one of the girls recommended. After their first round, Veronica decided to start a general conversation. She had approached them under the guise of a private investigator who wanted their story to help locate a missing person. The girls were so confident in her referral from Rand that they didn’t even question it.
“So what exactly did you find out?” Veronica asked.
“Oh, it was crazy, based on what Roberta told us she found out,” the first girl, Ricki, explained. “Everyone was getting really worried about the killings. Too frequent. Too gruesome. But Bertie can tell you more about what she’s discovered so far.”
Veronica opened up a notepad and pretended to be taking notes, while Ricki returned her attention to her drink and the hunky bartender who was serving them. Her abbreviation of the events was a cue to her sister to jump in and tell Veronica what she really wanted to know so she could concentrate on making sure that the drinks kept on flowing. It was Saturday night and she had no intentions of spending it doing a whole lot of work while she sat in her favorite bar. Veronica turned her attention to Roberta, hoping that at some point she’d learn something useful.
But the longer the night grew, the faster Veronica was beginning to realize that the ladies of R3 Recovery, though insightful, did not have a lot more to offer in the way of connecting the regional serial killings than the Suffolk police department had. They just happened to stumble on the reports during one of their jobs and had pondered it a little longer than the average citizen. So by the end of the conversation, the only thing that was certain was that the killer had moved on. All signs of the terror had stopped and the townships along route that ran the coast had more or less forgotten about what happened.
The early summer breeze in the coastal city was brisk but, of course, Veronica was impervious; one of the benefits of being a vampire. After saying her goodbyes to the ladies, she strode toward her motel, deciding that the fresh night air and a walk alone along River Street would calm her mood.
***
Set was hungry. That much he was aware of. As he scanned the street corner from the cover of a dark alley, he pulled his long overcoat around him. It had served him well, particularly with hiding his wings when he wanted to walk in the daylight. It wasn’t too thick to look strange in the days of an early Louisiana summer, but was thick enough to conceal his strange features from curious eyes.
Today was just the occasion where that would be of extreme importance. It was the Lafayette parish fair and all around him all he could see was a sea of countless, unsuspecting and incredibly delicious looking potential victims. He had to calm himself down just so he didn’t expose himself in broad daylight. He was hungry, but after such a long time on earth, he wasn’t stupid either.
As he walked, he did his best to tune out the noise and colors. There was a lot to take in, but it was all useless information to Set. He found himself thinking what a wonderful country America was and that he was extremely pleased that he had decided to finally come here. The hunting had been unproblematic from the get-go, but he was prone to moments of overconfidence, overenthusiasm and overindulgence. All of which were reasons for him having to leave the places he had been more familiar with in the east and travel west in search of sport and nourishment.
So far, the trip had been a splendid success. He had found the country was so vast that he figured he could make at least three more circuits of it before he moved further south, probably to Mexico. But for now, he just wanted some food.
He kept walking through the fairgrounds, looking for the perfect target. It took him a while, but eventually he saw the two young boys playing around with each other. They were among the white plastic tables and chairs that had been set out in front of a food truck. Their mother was in the line at a concession stand. All three were dead look-alikes, practically copies of one another; their family resemblance undeniable. Set licked his lips as he continued to watch the two boys casually.
Two for the effort of one, he thought. Easy pickings. Those always tasted better, their blood was more rested. Less stressed. It certainly wasn’t the first time that he had eaten children either. Delicious little morsels. His first real meal had been a child, a playmate of his at his father’s palace. He had devoured the boy almost entirely in his frenzy and had made a tremendous mess. It had been the reason for his expulsion from the palace. The women could not protect him from the wrath of his father’s general and Rameses refused to see the boy. Having succumbed piteously to Set’s charms before, his magicians had warned him of the malevolent evil that they now knew dwelt within the child. They had cast him out into the desert to wander and eventually die of exposure, but he had found shelter and then he had been found by the priests of Agiel. They had taken him in and taught him all they knew; but most importantly, they had fed him.
He waited until the mother – who was busy haggling with the food truck order taker about what she could or couldn’t get on the side – was fully engaged in ordering the food. She was completely and blissfully unaware of everything to do with her children, except their lunch orders. She seemed to think they were old enough to be left to fend for themselves while she took care of that chore. It probably never occurred to her that there could possibly be any predators stalking a busy fairground. How quaint.
It was then that he decided to go over to the children. They were very young and didn’t seem to mind his presence. In fact, they were fascinated by his long jacket.
“Why is it so long?” they asked. The cambion simply smiled at them; their innocence was heating his blood as he thought of the deliciousness of his upcoming meal. All he had to do was look at them once, straight in the eyes, and they were entranced.
“So pretty,” the boys said in unison.
&nbs
p; “Why not come exploring with me?” Set asked.
His voice was smooth and irresistible. The two kids didn’t know how to say no, and the truth be told, neither of them would have dreamt of doing so.
***
It was a day later that Veronica heard about the vicious killing of two small children on the news. They’d had all the blood drained from their bodies and then had been disemboweled and left in a wooded area just a quarter of a mile from where the Louisiana state fair was being held. It was clear that they had been lured away from their guardians while at the event and then simply abducted and murdered.
That was him. She knew it. That was exactly how the cambion preferred to kill. Their kind was a deceptive set. The typical cambion was cunning and evil, with a beautiful, alluring appearance and a powerful ability to control other people. They generally appeared fully-human, except that they had no pulse or breath. They appear completely human until about the age of seven, after which they begin to show their demonic origins and tendencies more overtly. Those that presented with demonic wings that could not be fully retracted hid them easily enough beneath clothing.
Veronica wasn’t surprised at the creature’s choice to victimize mostly young women. Their species are often times referred to as sexual vampires; enticing their victims into sexual activity for the more evil purpose of feeding on them. But the murder of the young twin boys was horrendous to her. Was the beast becoming more desperate or was he perhaps suffering from some sort of psychosis?
If he’s headed for the looney bin, I’d better catch up with him fast. With his talents and his strength, he could do a whole lot of damage in a very short amount of time, she thought.
She immediately packed her things up, checked the location and put it in her GPS. She was headed to Lafayette.
Not long after the destination was programmed in, something – she wasn’t sure what – drew her to the city of New Orleans. With a nagging sense that she was following blind intuition, she reset her coordinates for New Orleans.
Chapter Seven
New Orleans was something special, Veronica thought. The air was intoxicating. It smelled of the brackish water from the other side of the levees and a wonderful myriad of exotic and delicious foods. Music from the street corners and the plethora of bars filled her ears and the colors were vibrant with that ‘Big Easy’ je ne sais quoi.
When Veronica arrived, she was kind of turned around by things. It was silly, she knew, but it reminded her of an old song from the twenties she had heard a few years before. One of the song’s lyrics came back to her and made her smile widely.
Way down yonder in New Orleans
In the land of dreamy scenes
There's a garden of Eden
That's what I mean,
There is heaven right here on earth
With those beautiful queens,
Way down yonder in New Orleans.
They've got angels right here on earth
Wearing little blue jeans,
Way down yonder in New Orleans.
The first thing she had to do was find the place that Agrippina had directed her to: Lilith’s Pathway. She urgently needed to get some supplies. The ammo for the damned gun had crept to the back of her mind as she realized that the children of Lilith may be able to tell her more about the gun than she had learned from Agrippina. It was important to her to understand her weapons; their capabilities, their weaknesses.
In addition, Agrippina had been right in assuming that she didn’t know the importance of the reference to Lilith. There wasn’t much that she knew of the history of the beings of her nature. Mr. Tan had once suggested that she read a series of supposedly fictional novels called the Vampire Chronicles, written coincidentally by a native of New Orleans and mostly set there as well, but she had never done so, despite downloading them all to her Kindle device. All Veronica knew for certain so far was that New Orleans was illuminated with supernatural powers. Everywhere she turned, she identified another being walking among the humans as if there was no difference between the two. Perhaps here there were no such distinctions made. It could be that they knew how to integrate better than the preternatural beings of other cities. Savannah had been like that; the old city lent a kind of shade to protect the undead. New Orleans was turning out to be the same, only more so.
In fact, on the Rue St. Ann, Veronica had spotted a well-dressed vampire man having a discussion in a café with a dark-haired witch. She was dressed in summery gypsy-like clothing; a billowy, white eyelet-cotton blouse and a red scarf tied around the waist of her full cotton skirt. Her hair flowed long and free down her back, with only the forelocks held back from falling into her face by a leather barrette. She drank rum while he had nothing in front of him at the table. She spoke heatedly to him while he was the picture of calmness. Her gold hoop earring bounced about with every passionate swing of her head and graceful gesticulation of her hands. There certainly was nothing like this city in any part of the world she had been to.
It took a bit of asking and more than enough ingenuity on her part to figure out all the right answers and finally find what she was looking for, but she understood the directions eventually. When she arrived, she discovered that it was a local shop known as the Underground Railway, run by an African-American woman native to the city. Veronica sighed, feeling a little bit stupid at being baffled by the clues to a place that she could have looked for on her phone. She just hoped that she was actually at the right location.
“Ah, you’re right on time,” said a woman dressed in colorful robes and a beaded headdress. “Is Veronica, no?” she asked in a thick Creole accent.
“Excuse me?” Veronica said, feeling for the gun at her breast. She didn’t like the notion that she was expected; it was usually a precursor to an ambush.
“Calm down, you silly girl,” the woman said, noticing her tense stance. She strode over to Veronica and placed an index finger under her chin. She didn’t wince from the touch of the icy cold flesh. Calmly, she moved Veronica’s head from side to side and then nodded, clearly satisfied. “I just needed to make sure. Come with me.”
The woman turned and walked further into the shop and Veronica followed her over to the main sales counter. The entire shop was covered in little kitschy figures that tourists usually buy for their friends when they travel. She didn’t understand the kind of place she just walked into.
“My name is Madame Méredithe Moliniere,” she said, laying her hands flat on the counter.
Veronica cocked her head to one side.
You’ve got to be shitting me. One minute I’m talking to two thousand year old vampires on the phone and the next I’m standing in a shop with one of the world’s most famous witches. How the hell do I get out of this nightmare? I’ve got to be dreaming this shit up!
Madame Méredithe Moliniere was what was referred to in bayous and boondocks of South Louisiana as a Cajun princess. The sum total of her skill and ability and the help that she gave to the people in her community all stemmed from the lessons, recipes and spells passed down through the generations for two hundred and fifty years. Like all royal families throughout history, the Moliniere women all married men from other powerful households, but they never changed their surname; they remained the House of Moliniere. Wherever it was that you hailed from, and whether you were human or supernatural, if you were in the know, then you understood that what that meant was that the woman was a witch. But not just any witch, being a Moliniere meant that she was considered to be one of the most powerful witches in the world. Now, the woman had Veronica’s full attention.
“You seem to have been expecting me?” Veronica asked, with a raised eyebrow. “In my profession, that is never a good thing. In fact, most of the time it’s the worst thing that can happen.”
Méredithe Moliniere nodded.
“I know you, Veronica Melbourne. The Huntress. We have heard many things about your ‘work’ out there in California. From the shift in your aura, I see that you too h
ave recognized who you speak to. Do not be afraid. I am presently on very good terms with the Watchers. The Witch of Massachusetts set things right between us many decades ago.”
Many decades? This woman couldn’t be a day over thirty five. What the hell was she talking about?
Méredithe laughed openly.
“I am much older than you could imagine, my silly friend. But that is truly of no consequence to us at this moment in time. Perhaps if we become friends, we will get the privilege of knowing each other a whole lot better than we currently do.”
Oh, fuck me! Did she just read my mind?
I can do much more than that, Veronica Melbourne. Please, pay attention, you silly child!
Veronica started and took a few steps back at the sound of Méredithe’s voice in her head.
“Well, now that you know what I am and who I am, the theoretical sniffing each other out is over and it’s time for me to close up shop.”
Veronica held back the urge to roll her eyes.
“I need the ammo. You know. For the gun, the golden gun. So I can kill this cambion thing.”
“Internet and cable TV have made you young ones so impatient, so undisciplined. Talent is wasted without the discipline to properly apply it. I will give you the same advice that I give to all my protégés, Veronica. And I want you to count yourself as very lucky to have it. I tell them that they must cultivate discipline within themselves. It is the one thing that separates us from ‘rogue crafters’.”
Are you shitting me? A damn lecture! Is this what I came all the way to New Orleans for? Although, if you think about it, she may just have a stinking point. Damnit!
Veronica nodded at the woman’s advice.
“I’ll just grab a few things that you will be needing and then we need to head over to my house on Dauphine Street. The rest of your supplies are there.”
