by Wood, Vivian
See No Evil
Alpha Guardians Book One
Vivian Wood
Vivian Veritas Publishing
Contents
Author’s Copyright
Hot New Release News
Alpha Guardians Series
Historical Notes
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
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About the Author
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Author’s Copyright
Cover Design by ResplendentMedia.com
Copyright Vivian Veritas Publishing 2015
May not be replicated or reproduced in any manner without express and written permission from the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Alpha Guardians Series
These titles are most enjoyable when read in sequence.
Evil Abounds - An Alpha Guardians Prequel
See No Evil - Alpha Guardians Book One
Hear No Evil - Alpha Guardians Book Two
Speak No Evil - Alpha Guardians Book Three
Historical Notes
Dear Reader,
As a New Orleans resident, I am always inspired by the rich history, vibrant culture, and haunting beauty of my city. I have certainly drawn on many of the stories and famous figures from the interwoven tapestry of New Orleans myths, legends, and history. I would like to make a point of saying that I have taken bits and pieces of all of these things, mixed them all together, and come up with a work of fiction.
None of the names, places, or persons in this story are meant to be taken literally — that’s part of the fun of a story like this. Everything in this story is a work of fiction, a figment of my imagination, and is meant to be interpreted as such.
Please enjoy this story, with my compliments.
Sincerely,
Vivian Wood
1
Chapter One
Pere Mal
Dominic “Pere Mal” Malveaux leaned his elbows on the flimsy rooftop railing on the Hotel Monteleone. He squinted against the glare of the mid-morning spring sun as he scanned the New Orleans skyline. Anytime he needed to think, he left his lavish set of rooms on the Monteleone’s topmost floor and came up to the pool deck. It afforded him peace and quiet, away from his many underlings and their ceaseless ineptitude. It also afforded a stunning view of the rest of the city and the Mississippi river.
Today the view was spectacular as ever, but his enjoyment was dampened by an unfamiliar sensation. Uncertainty, perhaps. He was so close to unraveling the age-old secret that voodoo priest Baron Samedi left behind. A riddle, of a sort, meant to reveal the secret of the Seven Gates. The quickest way to peel away the Veil, that thin barrier between this world and the next. The shortest route to the realm of the spirits, and a place that Pere Mal very much needed to access.
Combining his own illustrious power with that of the spirits of his fearsome ancestors would be a coup. Pere Mal was strong now, but once he destroyed the Veil and brought the two worlds together, he would be unstoppable. Le Medcin, that nosy, menacing bastard, would crumble at Pere Mal’s feet. People were naive, thinking Le Medcin’s lies about representing some greater force were true. Pere Mal had believed that too, once.
Now, though… Pere Mal knew that Le Medcin was a lying snake. Pere Mal would bring him down, hard. Right after he brought that would-be priestess to her knees.
Pere Mal’s fists clenched at the very thought of Mere Marie, as she styled herself these days. That uppity bitch. She was nothing when Pere Mal first found her, blindly following the principles of voodoo with no true understanding, no appreciation for the art of balancing light and dark magic. Without “Uncle Dominic” showing her the way, where would little Marie be now?
“Boss.”
Pere Mal turned to see his right-hand man Landry striding across the pristine patio, looking annoyed. Landry was Pere Mal’s physical opposite, making them an interesting pair. Landry was short, under five and a half feet. His skin had a unique pallor, so that despite his obvious African American heritage, he was nearly pale as a sheet. He also wore ill-fitting, boxy suits; if Pere Mal didn’t demand his work attire be appropriate, no doubt Landry would only ever wear basketball shorts and sneakers with a ratty Saints jersey. Next to tall, caramel skinned, tuxedoed Pere Mal’s old-world grace, Landry looked like exactly what he was: a weaselly subordinate who handled the dirty work, jumping to meet Pere Mal’s commands.
“Landry,” Pere Mal said, giving his employee a scathing glance that slowed Landry’s steps from rushed to hesitant. “I thought we had an understanding about what happens when I’m up here on the roof.”
Landry’s lips tugged downward, but he advanced anyway.
“Yes, Monsieur,” Landry said, his French butchered by his low-class American accent. Of course, Pere Mal supposed that not everyone could speak in Haitian-Creole accents such as Pere Mal and his once-protégée Mere Marie did.
“And yet,” Pere Mal said, glancing down at Landry over the broad bridge of his nose, “here you are.”
“We found the witch. Maybe. I think,” Landry said, stopping a few feet away from where Pere Mal leaned against the railing. Landry shifted in place a few times, fidgeting under Pere Mal’s gaze. “I figured you’d want to know right away.”
“Let’s go inside,” Pere Mal said, pushing off the railing and striding inside. “I don’t want to start a precedent, have you thinking you can intrude on my thoughts whenever you like.”
“Sir,” Landry said with a relieved nod.
They traced Landry’s path back inside, Pere Mal leading the way to set of plush sofas tucked away in a tiny bar area. On weekends, the wood-paneled, high-end bar was bustling and loud; just now, it was silent and empty. Perfect for the conversation to come.
“Alright. Tell me what you’ve found,” Pere Mal said, settling himself on the largest couch. Landry took the love seat next to it, nervously fiddling with the hideous green tie he wore.
“Hang on a second,” Landry said. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he bellowed, “Amos! Amos, bring the girl!”
Landry had a bit of a smirk on his lips as one of his lookalike underlings dragged a scrawny teenaged girl in the room. The girl’s skin was caramel cream, a perfect Creole mix, and she wore a skintight electric blue dress that made her honey-colored eyes stand out. Currently those eyes were filled with tears, her long hair mussed, her face showing fear and fury in equal
measure.
Pere Mal found her beauty compelling, but her tears repulsed him. If he wanted humanity, he would never have become a voodoo priest of such stature, never have learned all the ancient secrets, never recited the words that left his human self behind and immortalized his soul. The farther he got from his mortal beginnings, the more humans and their petty emotions disgusted him. The girl’s tears, the self-satisfied gleam in Landry’s eyes… Pere Mal repressed a bored sigh.
“Found her dancing at at a club on Bourbon street. She’s got a big mouth, telling me how she can read energies, how her mother runs a booth at Le Marché,” Amos grunted. He turned his gaze to the girl, giving her a sharp shake. “Tell him about the lady your mom sees at Le Marché.”
“I ain’t helping you,” the girl sneered. “You been dragging me all over the city. I don’t think you’re even gonna pay for all them private dances.”
Landry cleared his throat.
“Right this second, my guys are putting your ma in the back of a van,” he told the young woman. “You and your ma are gonna help us find this witch, or I’ll kill you both.”
The young woman’s mouth opened and closed several times, gawping like a fish out of water.
“Andrea,” Amos said, jerking her arm again. “Start talking.”
“S-she… My momma said this white girl comes into her shop all the time, looking for stuff to, like… make her magic less strong or whatever. The lady sees ghosts, I guess. My momma said the lady passed on a message from my uncle, once.”
“Can she do anything else?” Pere Mal asked, curious.
“I dunno,” Andrea said, her lip curling. “I wasn’t even there. Momma just said that the lady is a fool to be walking around unprotected like that. She’s real powerful and shit.”
“What’s the woman’s name?” Pere Mal asked, ignoring the girl’s attitude.
“Echo something. Echo…” Andrea screwed up her face, thinking. “Cabba-something. I can’t remember, exactly. Caballero?”
“And how does she dampen her power?” Pere Mal pressed.
“Witch’s Cloak,” Amos cut in, seeming confident. “You make a tea, it’s real nasty. But it works. Kills your power, makes you invisible to other Kith.”
Pere Mal narrowed his gaze, wondering how this flunky knew about herbalism. He let it go, not interested enough to ask.
“Alright. Go on,” he said, waving a hand at the girl.
“What about my momma?” she asked, her voice rising.
“You’ll have her back in a few hours, unharmed. She’s going to help us find the witch,” Pere Mal sighed.
“Medium,” Amos corrected. Pere Mal gave him a startled glance that quickly turned to an angry glare, and Amos beat feet, dragging the girl with him.
Pere Mal paced to a large window and studied the skyline as he pieced together his plan.
“Have the mother scry for the witch,” Pere Mal ordered. “Get her name, too. Track her down and follow her until she’s somewhere quiet. I want her by sundown tomorrow.”
“Where should I take her?” Landry asked.
None of Pere Mal’s business was conducted here at the Hotel Monteleone. He considered the Hotel his home away from home, and wouldn’t risk the comfort of his personal suite, even over something as important as finding the girl. Just thinking of being face-to-face with the first of the Three Lights made Pere Mal’s lips curl up in the semblance of a smile.
After a moment of consideration, Pere Mal replied, “The Prytania House. Make sure one of the witches wards the room to dampen the girl’s presence and keep her from escaping.”
“Yes, Monsieur,” Landry agreed. He started to turn away.
“Landry,” Pere Mal said, making Landry pause.
“Yes, sir?”
Pere Mal rooted Landry with a heavy gaze.
“This is important. Do it personally. There can be no mistakes,” Pere Mal told him.
Landry visibly swallowed, then gave a jerky nod.
“Yes, sir.”
Pere Mal turned away, dismissing Landry. His heart filled with something strangely close to joy. In only a handful of hours, he’d have the witch in his possession. She was the first key to discovering Baron Samedi’s secrets, to tearing the Veil asunder.
Pere Mal couldn’t help rubbing his hands together with gleeful anticipation.
Soon.
2
Chapter Two
Echo
Wednesday, 10am
“It's not that I don’t understand,” Echo said with a sigh, rolling her eyes to the right to look at the hazy apparition of a teenaged Creole boy that floated alongside her with an anxious expression.
“But Mistress,” the ghost said, wringing his hands, “Don’t you think people should know? The whole city is in danger!”
Echo hesitated, unsure how to respond. The problem with talking to young Aldous was that, like most ghosts, they had no context. Once a spirit passed beyond the Veil and into the next world, they no longer felt the passage of time. Nor were they aware that the world had moved on without them. Spirits appeared in the human realm because something anchored them there, keeping them from moving on to whatever lay ahead for them.
Thus anchored, spirits existed as a fragment of memory, a tiny piece of a human soul suspended in time, acting on the only information and understanding that they had: the exact circumstances from the moment of their death.
It didn’t make them great company, in Echo’s opinion. Especially when, like Aldous, the ghost happened to be a one-time New Orleans civil engineer whose entire attention was focused on the flood that would, and did, greatly reduce the population… in 1908.
“Aldous, if I promise to go to City Hall today and talk to the mayor himself, will you let me go about my business?” Echo asked.
Aldous gave her a grave and ghostly nod before flickering out of existence. Echo blew out a breath as she entered the Faubourg Marigny, looking for the right spot to enter The Gray Market. Sometimes known as Le Bon Marche or the Voodoo Market, The Gray Market was a broad network of businesses catering to the practitioners of various kinds of magic and any other Kith that needed… well, anything, really.
The trick to entering the gray market was that at any given time there were between a dozen and a hundred entrances and exits, each one corresponding to a unique and often random location in the gray market. The market was something like a pie pan filled with pearls, each connected to its neighbors by a labyrinthine series of connected strands. The pearls consisted of spell book shops, herbalist dispensaries, exotic brothels, and every other manner of dark, dusty, unnerving house of acquisition.
The entrances and exits of the gray market were cleverly hidden in plain sight. Some were actual doorways one walked through, appearing to lead into a house or bar. A human would pass through into the grocery store or apartment lobby, while a member of the Kith would puzzle our and speak aloud the portal’s unique pass phrase, allowing them access to the Market.
Echo wandered down Chartres Street, looking for nothing and something at the same time. That was to say, she wasn’t looking for something in particular, but instead for something that was a bit off or out of place, a hint of magic floating around…
Echo spotted a pristine Bell South phone booth tucked beside a crumbling “shotgun” style home, its rooms laid out in a straight line so that one could see from the front door straight to the back yard. Since it was 2015, Echo was assuming that new phone booths weren’t exactly sitting on every street corner these days. She jogged over to it and slid the door open, swallowing the lump in her throat as she stepped inside.
She slid effortlessly into the gray market, stepping from the phone booth into a dingy alleyway. She looked around and walked down the passage to find herself on one of the market’s main thoroughfares, in the Carré Rouge. This section of the Market was always magically moonlit, as it catered mainly to vampires looking for blood banks, live donors, or brothels… or some combination thereof. The rest of the
Market seemed lit by some kind of dim early morning light from an indeterminate source, but in the Carré Rouge it was even darker.
And creepier, in Echo’s opinion.
Echo shivered and beat feet out of the Carré Rouge, holding her breath until she stepped into the main area of The Market. A melee of sights, sounds, and smells assaulted Echo’s senses as she stopped to take in the vast Market. There were perhaps three hundred stalls set up in the main market, crammed into uneven rows. These vendors sold the smaller items, everything from candied apples charmed with love spells to inexpensive pre-made potions to cheap wands and fortunetellers' mirror balls. The main market dealt in trinkets; more advanced practitioners sought their goods beyond the stalls, in the dozen or so blocks of private shops.
Echo skirted the stalls altogether and headed for the far side of the Market, taking in the sights as she walked to Robichaux’s Herbs and Potions. It was quiet in the Market. Early morning in the human world meant that many Kith were asleep, avoiding sunlight or just recovering after keeping late hours. The Market was busiest after midnight, so many shops and stalls didn’t even open until noon or later.
She pushed open the front door, smiling at the familiar tinkle of the bell that alerted Miss Natalie to the presence of visitors. Echo was surprised to find the shop empty; she’d never once stepped into the shop without finding the aged herbalist waiting with a smile and some fresh Kith gossip.
Echo closed the door and looked at the empty desk for a minute, then shrugged. The register desk sat in the middle back of the store, flanked on each side by three towering rows of white wood bookshelves. Each aisle held shelves of plants grouped by family and purpose, the living specimens growing under curved glass bell jars, the dried and powdered products in bottles of every manner and shape. Though the collection was a little overwhelming, the containers were neatly labeled and organized.
