by G A Chase
Endall took a couple of deep breaths as if she were summoning all her courage. “Then we make a run for it.” She was up and out the door before Sanguine could clear her wings from the metal chair.
Running through the streets of the Quarter with her five-foot-long wings trailing into every puddle-filled pothole made Sanguine quiver with the desire to take flight. Endall was easily a block ahead—much too far to protect her should Colin step out of the shadows and abduct her. But yelling for her to slow down might also call forth the devil.
Sanguine finally caught up with Endall at the front door of Scratch and Sniff. “And you call me reckless.”
Endall turned away from the door. “Promise me you’ll be okay. I’m not leaving until you do.”
It warmed Sanguine’s heart to know there was an aspect of Kendell that cared so much. “My plan is to stay out of his way for as long as possible. He needs to discover he’s in hell on his own. Your team may be supplying the projected marionettes, but I’m in charge of the play. I’ll keep him occupied for as long as I can with the puppets. If I sense that he’s getting bored, I’ll step in. The day he shows up at the convent to convince Miss Fleur he’s ready for the third gate is the day I leave hell. I’ll do my best to check in with you at Scratch and Sniff each day at five to let you know how things are progressing. Don’t freak out if I miss a day or a week. If I’m not home sooner, tell Myles to expect me at Guinee’s gate to hell in six months, no matter what happens with Colin.”
“Where will you hide?”
Sanguine hated long goodbyes, especially when every moment was filled with peril. “I know this realm better than Colin ever will. Don’t forget, I can see the future.”
“You can only see what’s ahead of you, literally and figuratively. If he sneaks up on you, your foresight won’t do you a damn bit of good. I’ve slapped plenty of mosquitoes off my arm to know bugs have a blind spot. Don’t get overconfident in your abilities.”
Sanguine looked at the door, hoping Endall would take the hint. “I’ve also got every animal in New Orleans keeping an eye on him. Between my spies and my supernatural abilities, I’ll be just fine. Now you have to go.”
Endall finally nodded her agreement and turned back to the weathered door. “Don’t take forever, okay?”
“We’ve both seen how fast Colin works through one of our plans.”
The girl’s snicker again reminded Sanguine of a little child. “I’ll set a place for you at dinner—and will continue to do so until you come home.”
* * *
With Kendell once again whole in spirit, Cheesecake stopped her concerned whining, though curling up on Kendell’s lap and growling with suspicion each time someone approached wasn’t much better. Delphine had loyally performed her part in the plan, but to keep the peace, Kendell and Myles hadn’t included her in the meeting at the apartment. It’s always one step toward trust then another step back with you, voodoo priestess.
Professor Yates stood outside the open French doors on the balcony. “From our contacts with the embassies in hell, it would seem our projectors are working even better than planned—though, as Luther almost never leaves his office and the nuns don’t like looking beyond the walls of their convent, I’m not putting too much trust in their assessments.”
Kendell wondered if the embassies were of any use at all. “Whatever Colin is up to, he’s steering clear of Scratch and Sniff and my seventh gate.”
As usual, Polly spoke for the band. “We see him each night at the Scratchy Dog. Fortunately, he doesn’t harass our version of Kendell, but he and Fake Myles have nearly come to blows a time or two. I guess that means he’s at least somewhat invested in his reality.”
Myles had Doughnut Hole snuggled next to him on the floor. “Not necessarily. I get the impression Colin would be even happier to mix it up with me if he thought I wasn’t anything more than a walking and talking punching bag. As for my fifth gate behind the club, he’s never ventured out there.”
Kendell nudged Cheesecake but couldn’t get her to move over. “I haven’t been able to contact the Mary who watched the first gate since she let him pass. And the baron’s kids who watch the third gate have also been out of touch, though I wouldn’t expect to hear from them anyway with Baron Samedi keeping watch at the bank. Sanguine’s in hell, so watching Colin through her sixth gate is meaningless. That only leaves Miss Fleur at the convent, and as Professor Yates said, the nuns don’t like looking beyond their walls.”
Lynn stopped playing with Cupcake and Muffin Top who, once free, promptly pounced on their brother, Doughnut Hole. “So we’re flying blind and hoping Sanguine doesn’t pull her avenging-angel routine? Tell me again how this was a win, because I’m not seeing it.”
Myles took his hand off the black puppy so the three could tear around the furniture under Cheesecake’s watchful supervision. “We have control of his power-generating plant. That’s a big deal. Since he doesn’t have my cane, he’s limited to following the path we’ve laid out for him. We’ve deprived him of any way to break out of hell. Next, even though we’re limited to keeping an eye on him with our gates, we do have other resources.”
Professor Yates leaned against the doorframe, not entering the crowded living room. “It might be possible to modify my projections so we could see Colin. He is eating and drinking again now that time for him is moving forward. Since we’re also projecting food and beverage, I should be able to spike the punch, as it were.”
Myles started taking notes. “We don’t want to give away that he’s in hell. Whatever you do will have to be so subtle he couldn’t detect it.”
“Give me a few weeks to come up with something. I’ll need to check in with Luther as he’s supplying the energy to our virtual reality.”
Myles got back to his rundown for Lynn. “And most importantly, Sanguine is working within our plan. With her ability to see the future, she’s not going to go off on some vigilante crusade. I’m not crazy about putting so much trust in her, but at least we do have a representative in hell. This time, she can fend for herself, so she won’t be sapping your energy.”
Lynn didn’t look convinced. “It still seems like it’s just a matter of time before he figures out our ploy and makes another attempt at passing through the gates. He’s already manipulated his way past two of them. We really fucked up.”
Myles sat back against the wall next to the couch. “As Kendell explained, that wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”
Kendell moved her hand from the arm of the couch to his shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I gave him the ability to feel empathy. In hindsight, I think Marie Laveau was trying to warn me. Without being able to see life through another’s eyes, he never would have appreciated what you women do onstage. I succeeded in selling him on his made-up reality, but in so doing, I gave him the key to your gate.”
Myles wasn’t going to like her take on Colin’s evolution, but Kendell knew she was right. “It’s called growth,” she said. “You made Colin more human and not just the devil he wanted to be. The question is, how does he deal with seeing people as more than just playthings?”
34
Colin sat in his office chair and mindlessly played the guitar pick between his fingers like a coin. Something had changed. He had the giddy excitement he used to feel when buying out a competitor. The photograph that leaned against the wall tempered his adrenaline-fueled lust for action. He had pulled off the butcher paper but hadn’t hung the print.
The homeless man had just sat on the bench while life swirled around him. If Colin focused hard enough, he could just make out the ghostly image of an elegantly dressed woman who passed the wretch without even turning her head.
Colin’s connection to the image wasn’t just based on its similarity to his former hell. He’d prided himself on being a shark—constantly on the move. Life and business were intertwined, and he needed to devour to survive. The stillness of the old black man in the rumpled and tat
tered clothing defied every instinct that had given Colin’s old life meaning. And yet he saw himself as that vagrant.
People had been little more than breezes that barely ruffled Colin’s well-tailored identity, just as the rush around the vagrant in the photograph failed to make any impression at all on him. For Colin, the hell the swamp witch had created carried with it a sense of peace.
“So what am I supposed to do now, old man?” Colin tossed the guitar pick onto his desk. It spun around and aimed at the photograph as if that was supposed to be an answer.
“Sorry, I’m not a statue, but I’m also no longer a shark. I suppose that means my answer no longer can be found inside this glass cage.”
He got up and looked around his office for what he suspected would be the last time. The mementoes of his business conquests lined the shelves. His victories had been as meaningless as the hunks of glass and metal that marked his achievements like some kid’s baseball trophies. He thumbed through the pile of pages he’d written documenting his observations in hell. They read like the ramblings of a madman. Only the photograph and guitar pick had any meaning for him, and both were still enigmas.
He pocketed the pick and left his office. The secretary’s desk remained vacant. “Just as well.”
He wandered down to Lafayette Square and sat at the base of the sculpture of Henry Clay to consider his options. The sprawling Gallier Hall that had been used as City Hall during Baron Malveaux’s lifetime reminded Colin of his mother’s desire for him to enter politics. That prospect carried no interest for him in life, death, or this strange continuation of his existence. Office buildings towered over the park, but they all looked tiny next to his.
At the edge of the park, a lone trumpeter played a haunting jazz number. As a teenager, Lincoln—now Colin—had longed to be an artist. Though he maintained an appreciation for creative endeavors, that life had eluded his grasp. He leaned back against the cold marble of the statue’s base and savored the music. The playing was as near to perfect as he could imagine. Too perfect.
Like not wanting to wake from a dream, Colin dared not move a muscle while the thought took shape. The night before, while listening to Kendell, he’d marveled at her ability to slightly change the song with each playing. Perfection wasn’t her aim. The variations weren’t mistakes. They were life. What he was hearing from the trumpeter was more like a recording.
He fingered the guitar pick in his pocket. He’d been given an answer, but he’d let the noise of his life drown out the message.
When he opened his eyes and looked up, he saw a lone bat flying toward the Quarter. “I’m still in hell.”
Look What You Made Me Voodoo
Look What You Made Me Voodoo Blurb
With Kendell and Myles safely back among the living, the task of keeping Colin in his place has fallen to Sanguine Delarosa. But as hell’s angel, can she resist the devil’s charms? In order to keep an eye on him, she may have to get emotionally and physically closer than she imagined possible. With the love of Sanguine, he may yet be saved.
When Colin resorts to his old ways by stealing Kendell’s soul, however, Sanguine must face the hard fact that he might not ever change. Meanwhile, the band, Myles, and the faithful dogs once again put everything at risk to rescue Kendell from hell.
Despite all of Colin’s misdeeds, Sanguine listens to his master plan of relieving people from the inevitability of death. His offer of a partnership leaves her wondering if she could be instrumental in creating a better future for humanity—or if she should continue with the team’s strategy for the devil’s ultimate destruction.
***
To be informed on G.A.’s latest publications, sign up for his newsletter:
Greg’s Newsletter
Or check out all of his publications:
Website
For a more personal connection,
Connect with Greg on Facebook
35
Three weeks into his experiment of living like a homeless person camped out in Lafayette Square, one thing became clear: he needed to make some changes in his life. Each time Colin Malveaux considered returning to his penthouse offices, he remembered the folders of documents that lay strewn across the floor. The mess didn’t bother him, but returning to a life that no longer had any meaning did.
He casually watched a businesswoman in a smartly tailored gray suit as she strolled along the radial walkway. She was headed straight toward the stairs leading up to the statue of Henry Clay that Colin called home. When she was less than a stride away, he stood up, trying to make the ensuing collision appear an accident.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. Fortunately, neither had ended up on the ground, but the physical contact had caused her to drop her briefcase, which he gallantly picked up. “Completely my mistake. I hope you’re not hurt.”
She brushed off her suit as if contact with the down-on-his-luck businessman had soiled her attire. “You might consider taking a shower. There’s one open to the public at the Y. Have a blessed day.” She scurried off at a pace that wasn’t so fast he would take offense but was quick enough to prevent any further exchange.
He sat back down on the steps, having gotten the information he wanted. Nothing about the encounter seemed in any way out of the ordinary. That one transitioned awfully fast from autopilot to snarky but helpful. Usually, I get at least a canned smile before the real encounter.
He watched the early-morning rush at the coffee shop across Saint Charles Avenue clear out. Each person, from high-powered executive to day laborer, hustled to work with a paper cup. From a distance, Colin noticed the uniform stride of each worker. The whole scene appeared to have been choreographed. But from his experiments, like the one with the woman he’d bumped into, he knew if he encroached on them closer than ten yards, they would resort to unscripted caustic behavior.
Hunger was knotting his stomach. After so long enduring the nonexistence of time in hell, he’d grown accustomed to the freedom from eating and sleeping. He hadn’t yet adapted to his body’s routine. As much as he had longed for the passing of days and the bodily changes they brought, now that he was supposedly back among the living, the inconveniences bugged him as they always had in his past life. The irritation caused him to look back at his business tower. From the top floors, all he’d needed to do was push a button, and whatever he desired would be delivered as fast as humanly possible—which, inevitably, had never been fast enough for his tastes.
That life of luxury isn’t the answer—at least, not at the moment. He stood on the marble stairs and brushed the dust from the seat of his rumpled slacks. His caricature of a recently fired businessman living on the street, afraid to return home, had served him well. People went about their day’s activities without giving him a passing glance.
A couple was discussing the upcoming festival that would fill the square with music and revelers. Their conversation sounded rehearsed, but Colin had trouble identifying why he had that impression. It was something about how the guy answered without appearing to pay attention to his companion, as if he knew what she was going to say and already had his reply at the ready.
Colin walked toward the coffee shop. He focused on the people performing their morning saunter along the sidewalk. As he approached the single lane of traffic, the strides of those across the street became more random. He hurried between a BMW sedan and an old VW bug before the light changed to green. Even the spacing of the cars seemed intentional. If they’d been any closer, he would have had to turn his body to get between the bumpers.
The redheaded college-aged barista greeted him as he pushed open the glass door. “Hey, Mr. M. The usual?”
“Yes, thank you, Kassie.” He watched as she wrote his name on a cup and started toasting his bagel. From across the counter, he was close enough to see that her movements seemed completely natural. Something about her voice reminded him of the woman who had been discussing the upcoming festival—rehearsed but pleasant. Neither woman sounded like the surp
rised businesswoman he’d intentionally bumped into.
Once Kassie had put the breakfast bagel with lox in the bag and thrown in a packet of cream cheese, he pulled his worn wallet from his pocket. The dance of handing her his card, her swiping it through the register, and him returning it to his wallet happened in a fluid motion that they’d been practicing but still didn’t have quite right.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. M.”
“Looking forward to it.”
She never pursued their business interactions beyond short, simple sentences. In his previous life, his wealth and power had often loosened women’s tongues. Colin accepted the double espresso from the guy making drinks behind the counter. As a bit player without any lines, the guy could have been a robot for all the emotion he put into his performance.
Colin left the comfort of the café for the street noise of an outdoor table and chair. Kassie was pleasant enough to watch work, but once she’d completed her part in the play, she seldom gave him a second glance. He took a bite of the bagel sandwich. The crunch of the toasted layer, the saltiness of the lox, and the slightly-too-wet cream cheese all tasted exactly as they had the day before.
He focused his attention on the trumpet player across the park as the musician began his daily set. Colin closed his eyes and listened to the man’s rendition of “Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?” Having heard exactly the same score for the preceding twenty-one mornings, Colin thought he had it committed to memory. So long as he kept his distance, the trumpet playing would be as consistent as a vinyl record, with each pop and hiss being the same each time. The one time he had approached the musician, however, the song he’d been working on took on a different feel.
“I’ve heard enough.” Colin picked up the remains of his boring breakfast and dumped it into the trash.
