by Lynn S.
“I’m afraid not, mon cheri. That’s one of the handful of people looking for you. And she just had it.”
***
Brigitte and Bansit arrived late, barely in time to see the shadowy impression of the Sidhe and the prince as they both disappeared into another dimension. Someone had decided Killian had to be stopped. Someone above the capabilities of Francis Alexander. The only way to drag Killian out of the mortal plane was by means of a commission of the Court itself. Someone had gone back on their word, and betrayed an arrangement with the Morrigan. Francis Alexander being back in Aval meant that its queen might have taken it upon herself to pay no mind to the designs of the Universe and protect a rogue.
Bansit cursed, knowing her stay on this plane might be prolonged.
Still, she showed no other signs of discomfort. There was nothing about her sorrow that might compare to what unfolded before them. It was a spectacle that easily illustrated human frailty. Two women held a dead old man. In desperation, they wished their tears could prevent the cold of death from nesting in his bones.
Brigitte made her way toward the group and the women dispersed. The presence of that young, dark-skinned beauty with eyes of blazing topaz made it evident they were dealing with something other. The embodiment of one of the city’s best kept secrets.
In all appearance, she was nothing more than a brat of barely legal age, crude and vulgar. Her clothes were deliberately selected: short jeans hiking up her thighs and an asymmetric piece of cloth she called a blouse just because it hid some of her curves. A party girl, no doubt. As she touched the body of the dead man, Susy and Veronica witnessed a sobering, awe inspiring transformation.
“It was not written that you’d die this way, old man. You suffered through many a hardship in your youth and your last years were meant to be peaceful, finding death as one delves into an easy slumber…” The figure before them was now taller than the Morrigan. Brigitte had not only grown in stature, but was now decked out in black over white. Her voluptuous breasts were pressed under a tight corset, flattened, allowing for her to don masculine garb. Black and white crowned by a top hat, the clothes of one wooing Lady Death into an altar.
Her eyes stayed hidden behind dark glasses. It was better that way. Had she not granted that mercy, the women would have been haunted by nightmares until their dying breath, eyes the color of sulfur keeping them on edge. Her words were for Benny, all her attention was devoted to the dead.
“Those nights in which your mother’s spirit appeared before me at the crypt, asking me about the deeds of the living in the city, I soothed her soul, telling her that you’d die happy and surrounded by friends. What an accurate oracle I turned out to be! One out of two ain’t bad, eh, Bernard? But don’t you worry, Benny. If you ever find yourself confused or angry, you know where to find me. Those gray walls at Lafayette will always welcome you. Though if you are to take any advice, I’d say forgive offenses. You are a good man, and the Light awaits.”
As Brigitte kissed the dead man’s forehead, her lips were no longer scarred by the presence of death, but plump and red once more. She had quickened, passing from one stage to another in order to better connect with the women.
Touching their faces, her hands were not the cadaveric vision eaten away by the white of bone. Compassion turned them young, soft, and scented with cinnamon. She granted them peace, resignation, and a particular brand of joy that came when the occasion of death became a celebration of life.
Kind as she was to the women, Brigitte gave a side-eye to Bansit. As her long lashes fought away tears, the loa decided the Morrigan was to bear witness. When Brigitte spoke, she leveled gods and mortals.
“Benny’s mother was a mambo. Verifiable stock, not one of the many charlatans who sell their parlor tricks on Pirate’s Alley. Her offerings were always favored; she knew to save the better spices, the dark rum, and fine tobacco. She gave, not ever questioning if my ears were attentive or my hands willing. Now, Bansit, go to your sisters and tell them that damned Court of Fairies crossed the line. Not only did they pretend to fool the Morrigan, they abused the good will of this Lady. We saw enough to know, Bansit. You recognized that seal trapping the prince. Go now and bring back Killian because I want it, and his pale-faced whore of a mother and queen because I demand it! It is not a good idea to see me visiting the world in between!”
Brigitte left the Morrigan with a mission, and walked out of the bar. As she made her way from Frenchmen Street to Decatur, musicians brushed by her shadow changed their tune, from happy, jazzy revelries to a funeral march.
The sounds of wind and metal became soulful and cathartic with each elongated note, while more and more joined death’s call for a song.
The parade stopped in front of the river walk. It was there, where the might of wind met the fierceness of moving waters, that Brigitte called with all her might.
“I bind you, Light and Shadows. You are now anchored to this place where I have kept and worshipped your secrets for centuries. When Bansit said nothing ever escapes my eyes, she was right. Yet, trusting your judgement, I promised to pretend to be blind and now I rue the day I fell for your game. You have cost me one pure soul and one is enough! Now, listen to me if you ever want to keep this city as your playground. Let there be no place between heaven and earth or the realms beyond for Francis Alexander to hide. Tomorrow at midnight, I want that son of a bitch before me. I’ll grant him the chance he denied one who loved me well. Consider that fair enough!”
The breeze rose furious against the tide, trapping the city between violent winds that carried her anguished call. Brigitte’s fury became one with nature and her will was visited upon each one of the creatures under her care.
Chapter XIX
Things That Are Only Fair
It was Mikka’s time to guard over the reaping. She had been alert before dawn. To any other being, it would be impossible to keep track of passing time as it was all distorted. The Spheres opened doors to battle fields of the present, future, and past, merging it all under the common denomination of bloodshed.
This time, her duty took her to a seashore, a reddish dawn advanced over the white crests of a willful sea. Centuries of divination told her that suns bathed in crimson spelled troublesome days, bad omens.
When Mikka’s world was but an island anchored to the Atlantic and the business was confined to its shores, it was easier. The Morrigan were happy to collect their charges. Centuries later, the proliferation of war on a grand scale on a planet that had but a limited time to heal itself had made her duty grim. Either that, or she missed her sisters terribly.
Annand no longer visited the fields and Bansit was gone for the moment. Sometimes just a moment was too long a time. When Mikka found herself with no one to distract her, memories of her own failed ambitions came to haunt her.
What was there for a goddess of war to long for, if not peace? To close her eyes and breathe in air that was not tainted by the smell of blood and the salty taste of tears. She had been close, so close once. Yet, when the time came, she didn’t have the strength to fight for what she wanted. The irony of it still made her sick.
“Mikka.”
It was not the first time she had heard her sister’s voice emerging from memories, but still, Mikka looked up. To her surprise, the Morrigan of the Waters was there, even if still wrapped in fragile human skin.
“Bansit!” Mikka ran toward her, but her sister raised a hand. “I’m not really here, not yet. I have barely been granted to stand at the doorway. Remember Annand forbade my return until our business with Francis Alexander is concluded. I just came to ask you to present yourself once more before the Seelie Court.”
“Great!” Mikka’s eyes turned a deep purple, mirroring her sudden change of humor. “Of course Annand send you to give me the news. Not only am I here, crossing threshold after threshold, collecting souls in a hurry, now she wants me to put up with all the Court’s shenanigans as well.”
“I can go if you don�
�t want to. But I believe you might actually enjoy this little exchange. It happens that prince Killian has been taken back to Aval against his will, and he needs to be extracted.”
“It is confirmed, then,” Mikka answered Bansit’s declaration. “I have no interest whatsoever!”
“Let me finish.” The shy Morrigan was used to her sister’s quick conclusions. “The Covenant of Light and Shadows has agreed that the Seelie Court acted against the accords. There’s an edict that calls for the retrieval of Queen Meav as well. The fairy queen is to be brought to New Orleans to answer to the oracle of the city. Her plots with House Alexander have brought about loss of life.”
Mikka widened her eyes, at first incredulous, and then delighted. “You are telling me, sister…”
“That the time for justice has come.”
***
Light tore its way along a path of fine dust, dancing into the room from the street. The window glass had been shattered and curtains torn. The sun, kept barely at bay by crafts and other means, managed to enter where it was not welcomed.
Something as innocent as a ray of sunshine made each muscle in Nolton’s body tense in uncomfortable anticipation.
“The room where the big mirror is was not affected. I can help you cross over there, I think…” Marissa suggested. She felt comfortable enough to try. After all, the vampire had been greatly diminished by the unexpected turn of events. And besides, deprived of his arrogance and his incessant courting with cynicism, Garan didn’t look like the blood sucking facsimile of Francis Alexander she had once taken him for.
As it had been shown—in the most embarrassing manner—the instinct of a dhampyr wouldn’t rest until it found a vampyr to latch itself onto. Then, said dhampyr became its master’s daylight protector while the vampyr itself looked after the welfare of its half-human kin. Garan might not have been a vampyr, but he had paid his dues saving her from harm. Everything told her she must do the same. She just needed to reach across into the corner of the living room he had holed up in and touch him. A simple energy transfer might help him to walk in daylight, if only briefly.
Marissa repeated her offer, as she thought Nolton had not heard her. Sometime within the last excruciatingly painful half hour, the vampire had retreated further into his corner, leaving her behind. Even as he filled her in on all the details she had wanted to hear about their search and rescue mission, Garan created a gap between them.
When they first heard that terrible cry, he was trying to explain that it was Brigitte of the Cemetery. Some terrible grievance must have crossed the Lady. As he tried to persuade her everything was going to be all right for them, the wave of sound made the windows explode, finding them unprepared to face the light. Garan had taken the full force of the strike. Probably forgetting for a second she was able to stand in the light, or perhaps fearful of whatever Brigitte’s unchecked rage might visit upon them, he covered her with his own body. His skin sizzled, though it didn’t burn as fast as a vampyr’s would. There was some damage. Marissa thought his pressing against the shadows was not much of a choice. Still, that didn’t mean she was right to approach him.
Marissa gripped Garan’s forearm, trying to make him pay attention. His skin was hot as it happened with an aggressive fever, a common reaction to shock and need for blood.
The violinist reacted in an unexpected way. He held Marissa’s hand within his own, caressing her perfect, renewed skin with his thumb. She took him to be grateful for having her near, but little did she know that even as that was his feeling in earnest, his eyes had shifted from soft blue to black. He made it obvious, still holding on to her hand, once he exposed the both of them to a beam of light. He held them there as she protested, even as his fingers became charred and red broke through blackened skin, leaving behind the stench of a burn.
“Look at me!” Garan demanded. Unable to hold her to the light any longer, he pulled her once again into the shadowed corner. Marissa could see the outline of his face. Unreasonable and furious, Nolton continued. “Take my advice, Marissa Salgado. Trusting a little too much brought you here. Don’t you dare commit the same mistake.” The vampire cleaned the charred skin off his hand as one would take off a glove, throwing the burned remains at her feet.
His hand was raw underneath a clear membrane that tried against all odds to heal his wounds. “I would advise you to run out that door, but where would you go and what would you do if you can’t even trust those who’ll protect you? There’s something about you that tempts us all. You are human, even if only in part, and there is nothing more enticing to a monster than to destroy that last shred of humanity within you. Go. Lock yourself inside the bedroom. As I am right now, I’d rather face incoming light here than stand in front of that mirror in my room. And while you are at it, do me a favor. Stop thinking about me as a savior, or a friend…you have no idea what I am.”
Garan’s expression turned homicidal. Marissa paid heed to his warning and turned to the hallway. As she did, she was stopped by a couple of tiny hands grabbing on to her waist and dragging her back where she came from.
“Well, well…the Cajun decided to show two fingers of commonsense. Hello, dear. I’m afraid this was all me. I had to punish my boy Garan here somehow. After all, his inclination to find out what makes that pretty head of yours tick cost me a good man today. And I thought telling him that Benny is now dead won’t hurt enough. My name is Brigitte. Welcome to New Orleans. Don’t ever allow for ill intentions to ruin your stay.”
It struck Marissa that the woman had purposely left out “unless those intentions are mine, of course.” But she knew better than to raise an objection. It felt as if Brigitte had her say with her, at least for the moment. Setting Marissa aside with a sway of her hips, she made it to Garan’s corner. Her hands framed the vampire’s face and a peace that was not there a moment before took over Nolton. His eyes turned back to the softest blue.
“I won’t blame you for trying to protect her. I understand now. I would have probably done the same. I barely touched her and I could feel traces of madness left behind. She must have been really broken when you found her. But still, you should have called me, cher. I trusted you would, and took my eye off you for a second. Now her peace of mind cost us both Benny, Susy’s impressionable young psyche, and gods know what for Veronica. And it doesn’t stop at that. Might or might not have been your fault, but now I’m mixed up in Fae business to the tip of my nose. Not that I care much for their uppity prince, but no one takes one under my protection without me saying so. You know me, I’d rather give all my beignets a good lickin’ before sharing.”
Brigitte’s eyes had gained back a mischievous spark and that tongue of hers was once again clicking against the roof of her mouth. “Now I have to brace myself for a deeper war. One hears stories, about Morrigan and fairy queens, and now that some are out in the open, we might end up taking a share as well. None of this is good. For all of this, I’m mad. But mostly, Garan, my love, it hurts me to think that I lost control and showed terrible weakness. What is done is done, though, and what I claimed for today at the riverside will be granted. Francis Alexander will be at my graveyard at the time and place of my choosing. You might have committed mistakes. It was my fault for allowing you to keep part of your human heart…”
Garan felt a cold shiver up his spine, a headache that blinded his senses. It was the dweller within him, making him forget that last thing Brigitte had said. The minimal revelation about his possessed state had to be kept hidden if he were to manifest his full power through Garan. The oracle knew this, and still she made sure the vampire felt the sting of her displeasure.
“What would you have me do…Lady?” The voice that escaped Nolton’s lips was nothing like it had been before. That was not unnoticed by Marissa, who had been observing everything unfold, even as the vampire had no time or care for her. Only for Brigitte, who was fast to answer.
“I hate to lose. If I allowed you to survive my fit of rage, it is because I know you
’ll do for me when the time is right.”
Garan simply nodded. Brigitte had always known how to fill blank spaces. His lips curved, knowing she had brought what he needed in order to get what she wanted.
“Come on now, trésor.” The lady asked Marissa to accompany her. “You really don’t want to see what’s coming. Besides, I surely have something pretty and tasteful you can change into. Don’t you just love makeovers?”
“Remember what I told you about me?” Garan’s voice warned Marissa. “I can assure you, there’s nothing to fear by trusting the Lady. She’ll do right by you.”
Marissa had nothing to take with her, so she followed. “He is possessed, isn’t he? Garan Nolton is not really a vampire, he has the spirit of a dead bloodsucker bound to his soul, very much like I’m linked to my instinct. That is…I don’t even have a word for it. I didn’t think it could be done.”
“It’s not supposed to happen, but those are dwellers for you. Eventually, you get used to it. It even makes things interesting, trying to see who is who when he talks to you. It’s not as evident or primal as your instinct. Dwellers are smooth as they come…” Brigitte entertained a tamed laughter and Marissa wondered how much she really knew. “I think I like you, blondie. You make the right observations. It will be a pleasure to find out how someone like your sharp, sweet self found a way into this mess. Before you ask, though, you won’t need to hide your blood-stained clothes from prying eyes in the street. I know it’s hard to believe but I have ways to hide my gorgeous self when I want to, and I can do the same for you.”
As if to assure her of it, Brigitte sent her ahead of a group of men who were coming up the stairs. They didn’t see her, even as Marissa froze, realizing the men were walking upstairs to the apartment. Their steps were heavy and their eyes never moved from the entrance door above.
“You can’t allow for them to go upstairs!” Marissa demanded of Brigitte. “He…Garan…he’s hurt and…oh God! The way he is right now, he’ll risk the light. Those men won’t make it past the hallway!”
