“You’re sure using a dead dog-walker to lure this thing back to Helen is our only option?”
“It’s the only solution with evidence of working and the least potential for collateral damage among the living, dead, and supernats in the city.”
I rubbed my face and leaned on my elbows. Collateral damage. The euphemism for dead. Dead people. Innocent dead people. And there had been too much of that under my watch. People I should have saved. I trained to save them. It was my purpose, but even Sister Betty had been shot when I should have been able to intervene.
“You’re brooding.”
“Because someone else is going to die. And not some bystander, not in some accident I might prevent. This is intentional. This is…” I shook my head. The word wouldn’t come.
“You might feel better when you see this.” He picked up another tablet and tapped it to life. “This document focuses on the sacrifice to reign in the Black Dog.”
I squinted at the elaborate, archaic script, my eyes skipping from word to word without really understanding.
“The legend says the protector lays down their life in faith, and their spirit rises to walk. Essentially, this protector becomes the dog’s human equivalent, a guardian.”
“Okay.” I scrolled through the digitized document.
“Nowhere does it say the protector dies.” He reached over, flicked the screen, and pointed out a line near the end. “It only says they ‘lay their life in faith upon the altar’ in sacrifice.”
“So, it’s not necessarily death?”
“Hard to say, but that’s what I took from it.”
“Then why were Father Callahan and Sister Betty so focused on her dying?”
His eyes sparkled as he fought a grin. “Were they, or is that what you heard?”
I didn’t have an answer.
Marty watched me a few seconds longer, then scrolled through the document again. “There’s a chance it means death, of course, that the sacrifice is literal, so maybe they’re preparing for worst-case scenario.”
“But it might be symbolic. Some spiritual journey. Maybe an out-of-body experience.”
Reluctantly, he nodded. “As old as this text is, that’s a possibility. Or that it’s a holdover from other forms of spiritualism the Church subsumed.”
“But it could be death.”
When he didn’t answer, I looked up.
He nodded slowly. “It’s an act of faith. A test.”
“I suck at tests, dude.”
“Which is why you keep getting them. A chance to try again.”
Another chance to survive losing another innocent.
I shuddered.
“Remember, they have to volunteer.”
Without asking, he wanted me to accept Sister Betty’s decision. He expected me to suck it up and say yes, adding her name to the list in my head. “I get that this has been done before. Or at least the legend is out there, but I need you to explain exactly what part of this is a good idea and how I’m supposed to let Sister Betty die to get this job done.”
“Fuck, you’re cranky. I thought that was my privilege as the one with the head injury.” He patted the pillow beside him. “Come here, drama queen, and let me school you.”
Every reason why I shouldn’t ran through my head.
“Don’t make me kick your ass.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head.
“The hell you say.” I scooted across the rumpled sheets and sat beside him to see his laptop monitor.
“Here’s where the story gets interesting. Helen, as you’ve probably guessed, isn’t quite what she seems.”
12
“You’re telling me a Norse goddess lives a block off Bourbon Street?”
Marty shrugged. “You said you felt energy in her house that wasn’t magic. I burned through Google then hit up the Dark Web but didn’t find anything until I saw your book.” He picked up my library book from his nightstand.
“I told you I read.”
“Yeah, but I’m obligated to keep you humble by giving you as much shit as possible.”
“At that, you excel. How did you make the connection between Helen and Hel?”
“Pure, dumb luck, really.” The pages fanned under his thumb. When he stopped, he handed me the open book. “I had the weirdest nightmare with her as a queen attended by zombies. Scared me awake. After that, I couldn’t sleep. I tried working, but my monitor was giving me a headache, so I thought I’d read a chapter. I opened to your bookmark and saw the chapter on Loki’s children, so, like the Marvel movie whore I am, I read it to see what might show up.”
“Okay, but I don’t get it. How’d you make the connection?” I skimmed the chapter.
“Remember how she wore the glove on her left hand and hid half her face under her hair? That’s in the book.” He gestured at the book. “And had you had even a day of vacation, you probably would have put it together.”
But I hadn’t. And wouldn’t for a while yet. Once I figured this mess out, I still had to deal with the frat boy “monster” in the airport. Maybe I could relax in a couple of weeks.
Marty didn’t notice my distraction and kept talking. “She could hide in New Orleans without altering the paranormal balance of the city. There might be a small influx of the dead attracted to her presence, but it wouldn’t seem like more than a lunar cycle surge.”
“And if she had the Black Dog—”
“Nope. It wasn’t hers.”
“She said—”
“She lied.” Marty smirked and tapped the tablet again. “And this is information only available to the highest-ranking clergy, and I mean Vatican-level high-ranking, so don’t go blabbing to Sister Hotpants or I’ll lose my back door.”
I rolled my eyes. “What did you find out?”
“As far as I can verify from historical accounts, such as they are, what Hel, or Helen, told us about the Black Dog’s origins was true.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
He chuckled. “Yup. From what I can tell, though, what we’re dealing with isn’t just ‘a’ Black Dog, since many were created over history, but ‘the’ Black Dog. The first of its kind.” He handed me the tablet. Scanning the document, I scrolled, eyes skipping from word to word, too distracted by my own thoughts to actually read.
The first supernat of its kind.
Great.
“Where it’s been or when it went astray isn’t clear, but a few months ago, the Vatican tracked it to New Orleans. It was probably attracted here since, with so many dead, this has to be like a massive graveyard. Helen wasn’t here when the Vatican asked her to intervene, but since she had dealings in New Orleans, convincing her didn’t take much effort. Less effort than it took for the Vatican to convince Ganesh to intervene on behalf of the missionaries in Northern India after 2016 cyclones. Despite the history and bad blood, they finally came to an agreement, and from what I hear, it’s still in place.”
I nodded, remembering Sister Betty’s tales of the awkward meetings between the high-ranking clergy and the Indian elephant god. The “remover of obstacles” finally agreed to help out with the heavy lifting. Though it wasn’t the first time the Catholic Church had partnered with deities of other religions, it was certainly the most memorable in living memory.
“The idea was that she’d use her influence to attract the dead that could be culled without negatively affecting the economy, and the Black Dog would instinctively follow.”
“But it didn’t work.” It wasn’t a question.
“Nope. Maybe with so many dead it’s unfocused or the bait isn’t strong enough.” He shrugged. “I haven’t figured out that part yet.”
Something felt…wrong. Or incomplete. “Maybe. But if she’s the goddess of the underworld, it should herd the dead to her.” I handed him the tablet and pressed the heel of my palms against my closed eyes. “It’s not just protecting the dead like it would have in the early Christian churches. Or the tourists, if it sees them as travelers. No, we’re mi
ssing something.”
His fingers thumped the glass of the device in his hands. “What about the nexus theory? If it’s real, this place must be like a spiritual battery.”
“If the dog’s drawing power from the nexus, maybe it’s feeding Helen as well. Plus, if the dead prefer her company, like the book says,” I tapped a line in the black book with Mjolnir on its cover, “maybe they’re drawing off it, too…”
“Maybe she’s interfering with the capture to focus power here in New Orleans?”
“Possibly.” My head ached. “So much for a simple capture job.” I slid off the bed to grab my notebook. “Now I’m up against an O.G. supernat that has somehow survived centuries, crossed an ocean, and hunkered down in a city built on a power nexus and filled with so many dead, it won’t leave of its own volition.” I jotted in my notebook before continuing. “And all I have to do is catch it, without harm, even though a Norse goddess of the underworld hasn’t managed to get the job done.”
Marty’s laughter wavered with nervous energy. “When you put it that way…”
“Right?” I paused and flashed a wry smile at him. He looked away first. I wrote a few more lines and closed the book. “Thanks for the info.”
“But I haven’t told you about the rite.”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t intend to use it.”
“You’re avoiding it.”
“No, I’m going to find another way. One that doesn’t involve gambling the life of someone I…” I swallowed the word ‘love’ before it slipped out. “Care about. A lot.”
When I pushed off the bed and started packing the guns into the backpack, Marty asked, “What are you doing?”
“Going to see our local Norse goddess.”
“You shouldn’t go alone.” He swayed as he stood, trying to cover it by touching the bed to regain his balance. Right or wrong, allowing him to come would endanger him, and that couldn’t happen.
“You’re certainly not going with me. Stay here, back me up. Call Agent Hardin and NOLA PD to let them know I’m headed out there.” The backpack’s nylon straps made a scratching whistle as I cinched them. “Just in case, of course.”
He nodded with resignation, his familiar words heavier and more somber than usual. “Don’t get dead.”
“Last on my to-do list, especially with vacation pending. Stay out of trouble.”
“That’s my line! You—”
The heavy door closed and cut off his words.
Halfway down the hall, I smelled it. Sulfur. Brimstone. A hint of animal musk. First, the merest whiff reached me, but as I followed the drunken paisley-patterned carpet, the acrid stench intensified as it had the night before. Burns the size of my palm scorched the florid carpet. I knelt, tracing the edge of one with my fingers. Not just marks. Footprints. No. Animal tracks.
I stood while the argument raged in my head. Marty should know about this. I should wait for Agent Hardin or even Father Callahan. Any back up. I might be hunting a supernatural dog, but Helen, or Hel, might be another matter.
But this time, I had weapons. At the end of the hall, I’d gear up.
I kept walking.
The footprints led around the corner to the right. No different than the one I’d exited, metal-framed doors lined both sides of the hall. Wall sconces lit the expanses between small, glittering chandeliers. At the far end stood a small table, a heavy floral arrangement occupying its entire surface and almost obscuring the mirror hanging behind it.
The pull of the mirror felt like a dream. My rational mind screamed with each step I took toward it. Dark blemishes scarred the silvered background, mottling my incomplete reflection as it ghosted and blurred with each step. In the ancient glass, instead of my standard “uniform” of black jeans and black tank top, a sparkling evening gown clung to me and swung with each step.
I rubbed my palms against my thighs, relieved to feel denim. I glanced down at my beaten black Doc Martens just to make sure nothing had actually changed.
My feet moved toward the mirror without thought, though my veins burned with the urge to run. I needed to run. But not away. I wanted to run toward it. To dive into it. To lose myself in whatever lay on the other side.
This could be bad.
Though I wanted to call or text Marty, my hands wouldn’t cooperate. Nothing did. I needed to stop and gear up, but my feet kept walking, each step inches from another scorch mark in the hideous carpet.
The mirror never got closer.
I walked. My feet ached as if I’d walked miles, yet I couldn’t stop. An amorphous shadow appeared behind me in the mirror, impossible to discern. In the silvered glass, the hulking mass filled the hallway behind me, blotting out the light. Squinting did nothing to clarify its shape.
I looked. Nothing behind me but the obnoxious carpet and an unnaturally long corridor lined with metal doorways, sconces, and chandeliers.
The black shadow blob stalked me in the mirror.
Could I be asleep? Could this be another nightmare?
I must be awake. I hadn’t laid down after talking with Marty. Hadn’t closed my eyes.
Or had I?
I jogged forward a few steps, surprised my body obeyed. Immediately, the hallway shrunk, vertigo set in as the mirror zoomed in with the disorienting speed only known in dreams.
Two bright red spots flared behind me in the mirror’s reflection.
I froze as a low vibration rumbled behind me, the acrid stench of brimstone sharpening.
No. Not a vibration.
A growl.
Shadow swallowed the light in the hallway, but the reflection sharpened.
I had to be dreaming.
The massive shape might have been a wolf or bear or even a large dog, but at the same time, it was none of them. Nothing I’d ever encountered seemed so wrong. Nothing I’d ever known to roam the night and devour people ever manifested like this. My breath strained against its foul reek. Its oppressive presence made me want to run, made me wish I’d holstered a gun or two instead of foolishly stashing them in my backpack. Damned social conventions and…laws and shit.
Its fur bristled and sparked in the dim light as it growled again.
For a brief second, I yearned for the threat of the wolf-dog, Fen, that curled at Helen’s feet. In comparison, Fen was a pup. And playful.
Hellhound.
The only term fit to apply to the beast behind me. Any other name was a euphemism. This was the guardian of graveyards, protector of travelers, and it saw me as an enemy.
A cautious step forward, another nightmarish growl. Power rumbled through my chest, the sound hinting at the power in its massive body. Every hair on my body took notice.
Twin red lights flared in the mirror.
Its glowing red eyes.
Great.
Alone. Essentially unarmed.
In other words, totally fucked.
It snuffled the air in short, sharp bursts, its exhale the sulfured animal smell that brought me here. Wisps of smoke drifted with its breath, tinged with burning carpet. The snuffling dissolved into another threatening rumble. This time, the floor shook when the beast stepped toward me.
Don’t run. Predators chase.
Sour fear sweat joined the miasma in the hallway, my stomach churning with burning acid. There had to be a way out. I’d faced worse. Not much, but maybe once or twice. I just had to keep my head and hope some kind of divine intervention would keep my ass alive.
Pushing away the fear and pretending sweat wasn’t rolling down my back, between my boobs, or soaking the underarms of my tank top, I glanced around, moving as little as possible. Nothing but locked doors between me and the table and flowers. I strained to see through the shadow of the beast in the mirror. Just the same long line of closed doors reflected behind me.
Now what?
Nothing left but to turn and face it.
Slowly.
As slowly as I could, I turned.
To face an empty hallway.
“W
hat the—?”
The growl again. I whirled to the mirror.
Me. In a sparkling evening gown again, a huge black dog behind me.
“I have to be dreaming.”
Heat suffused the air around me in a slow vortex. Hot wire brushed my skin, and even my feet felt hot through my Docs. Burning hair joined the stink around me. In the mirror, the shadow circled me. The vague shape snuffled my feet. As it circled behind me, I took a half step forward. Heat dissipated, then the hot wire scrape brushed my arm again, and I swear a cool, wet nose nuzzled my palm.
Okay. Sure. We’ll call this an improvement. Preparing to run for my life one minute and wondering if I’d somehow adopted a supernatural puppy the size of a small buffalo the next. An invisible puppy. The size of a small but invisible buffalo.
If I survived long enough to write my life story, no one would ever believe it.
“I really hope you’re not going to eat me or try to drag my soul to Hell or anything,” I said to the creature I couldn’t see.
The sound it made in response couldn’t be described as anything but a whine. A deep, terrifying whine from an invisible supernatural creature, but a whine nonetheless.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I said, talking to the prickling, bristly heat pressed against my legs, “and see if we can get you home. Or somewhere like home, at least.”
Each step down the hall took forever. Longer, if possible, than walking to the stupid mirror. Which I’d have to investigate later. Silver mirrors didn’t usually reflect supernats, but this one seemed to. And why the hell had it shown me in an evening gown?
New Orleans had too many questions and not enough vacation opportunity for a monster hunter. Marty’d have to include that in a Yelp review.
Caitlin Kelley--Monster Hunter, #1 Page 9
