“Am I that transparent?”
“To me. What do you need?”
“I need to fill in the back story on one Wynn Devereaux here in NOLA.”
“D-E-V-E-R-E-A-U-X?”
“You’re the smartest one.”
“You could be, too, if you learned how to operate a computer. What is it you want to know, exactly?”
Denny could hear Lauren’s fingers flying across the keyboard. “Family history, local gossip, anything about him or his family.”
“And you want this yesterday, I suppose.”
“Of course.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. He just seemed to know more than I’d told him. Ames doesn’t know much about him. My demon gets all twitchy whenever he’s near us.”
“Twitchy?”
“Hard to explain. It’s like the Hanta knows something I don’t.”
“You’ll get it. I’ll get right back as soon as I have something. You sure you’re all right?”
“Positive. Would you mind swinging by the house to let Rush know I’ll be home soon?”
“You betcha. Be careful, Den. You sound exhausted.”
“I am. It’s been grueling and gruesome. I’ll spare you the details. You’d only worry more. Thanks for this.”
“Oh no you don’t, Hunter. You can’t keep––”
“Easy, Jo. I am not here to bust your chops. I need a little info and then I’ll be on my way and you’ll never see me again.”
Jocasta leaned forward. “Info, for you never to return? I like. What can I do for you?”
“I have words to an incantation I heard and I need to know just what they mean.”
Denny recited the incantation Hélène had used to close the rift.
“That’s as close as I can come to what I heard. Can you give me any idea at all what the spell said?”
Jocasta appeared surprised. “Your accent is all wrong, but I get your meaning.”
“Which is what?”
“It is a transportation spell to move one object elsewhere.”
The Hanta growled within Denny. Her blood ran cold. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. I know my own language. This spell moves or transports something to someplace else. Only a very powerful priestess can do such a spell. Why? What was moved?”
Denny closed her eyes. It wasn’t Wynn Devereaux who had played her after all. It was Hélène. The last person she expected to get in her way.
“Hunter?”
Opening her eyes, Denny inhaled deeply. “How far could she move it?”
“That would depend on its size. If it were large, not far at all.”
“How far is not far?”
Jocasta drummed her fingertips on her chin. “A hundred yards, perhaps. Maybe a little more.”
Denny pinched the bridge of her nose. What was Hélène’s play in all this? Why would she have marked Denny’s face and then turned right around to betray her? What was she after? What in the hell was going on here?
“May I ask why you have been marked? Where were you going that you would need such protection?”
“Enobaria’s.”
Jocasta smiled a tight grin. “And you were told you could not be harmed while wearing the mark?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Jocasta shook her head. “You have been duped. Enobaria’s magic is strongest of all. Her power is so great, she could crush any other Mambo Priestess until her bones turned to dust. That mark might protect you from regular Vodouisants, but will do nothing against the likes of Enobaria. If she had wanted to, she could have easily killed you and dumped your body into the swamp.” Jocasta studied the mark. “Ah yes. This mark...it is not what you think it is. It has its own magical properties.”
Denny felt sick to her stomach, the pieces falling into place. “Which is why she could drug me.”
“Drug you, poison you, feed you to the ’gators...once you got out there, you were at her mercy. Why you are still alive is probably the greater question.”
Denny felt the Hanta become agitated. She’d realized how lucky she was not to have been fed to the ’gators.
“If Enobaria drugged you and did not kill you, then she did not wish you dead, or believe me, you would be. Many have travelled out to see her. Not all have returned.”
“She actually let me see visions to answer some of my questions.”
This seemed to surprise Jocasta the most. “Really? Wow. That is a little stunning. Then she truly does want you alive. Very interesting.”
Denny paced back and forth. “Can you venture a guess as to why Hélène would lead me to believe Enobaria could not hurt me as long as I bore the mark?”
Jocasta sighed. “You do not need my answer, hunter. You have it within you. Actually, you have everything you need to move forward. You just need to listen to yourself. You keep looking outward when the answers are within. Trust your instincts. They haven’t failed you yet.”
“I’m not so sure about that now.”
“You know so little about the Vodouisants. You don’t know who to trust or what our ways truly are. It is difficult when you do not know who is telling the truth and who plays you for a pawn. That mark carried with it magic of its own.”
“Magic? What kind?”
“That, I do not know. Brands such as that develop magical powers the wearer needs at any given time. What it does remains to be seen.”
Denny already knew. “Thank you, Jocasta. I really appreciate your honesty.”
Jocasta walked her to the door. “As much as I like these little chats of ours, I do not wish to see you again. Do what you came here to do and then go home.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks again.”
As Denny got into the rental car, she thought about the words the red-headed witch had said.
***
Denny had spent the better part of the day boning up on her abysmal knowledge of Vodouisants as well as digging into the dirt of New Orleans to find what information she could about Enobaria, Hélène, and Voodoo.
For the most part, New Orleanians were unwilling to part with much or any information about the Swamp Queen. Most thought she was just a myth, but Lauren managed to locate a librarian who was willing to share her insights about both Enobaria and the Haitian influence in NOLA.
That information was pure gold, and, once again, Denny realized that the people she had always counted on to keep her safe were the same ones she was counting on now.
Denny shrugged off her doubts and fears, disappointments and anger at being played, and prepared herself for the final round of this battle.
When she finally returned to the house to check on Annalee and Peyton, she found both of them fast asleep.
“Where have you been?” Iris asked when Denny came into the house. “You’ve been gone all day.”
“Everywhere. Look. I think I know where the boys are, but I can’t leave you two here alone to protect the girls, so I asked the coven for help...you know...a little magical defense is a good idea.”
Iris nodded. “Good thinking, but I’m not staying here. Wither thou goest, so goest I. I won’t even argue with you about it.”
Denny cocked her head. “The Bible? Seriously? I have a Bible-quoting witch on my team?”
“It’s sweet regardless of where it came from,” Valeria said as she descended the stairs. “And Iris is correct. She will be with you when you find those boys. I can take care of the hunters.”
“How are they?”
“Annalee is recovering well. Her Hanta is a remarkably fast healer.”
Denny looked down at the lightly snoring Peyton. “And this one?”
“Continues to battle. See how her eyes go rapidly back and forth under her eyelids? I cannot bring her out of it. She must fight this on her own. If she doesn’t have the will, then it will take over.”
“And if it does? What do we do if she wakes up possessed?”
“We restrain her until we can get an expert in here to help her ov
ercome it.”
“An exorcist?”
“Close enough.”
Valeria crossed her arms and waited. “You have been very busy today upturning all sorts of hornets’ nests.”
“Guilty as charged. Let me give you the nutshell version of everything I’ve uncovered today.” Denny quickly told them about her suspicions about Wynn, about her visit with Jocasta, and about the rest of what she’d learned from the librarian.
“Heads are so gonna roll, DH. I can’t even believe Hélène sent you to Enobaria hoping she’d kill you.”
“Kill me, imprison me, who knows what Hélène thought? But if she moved the rift, that can only mean that whatever game she is playing is still being played. It’s just half-time, ladies, and we don’t have time to amass an army against the Vodouisants and Hélène. We have to take them out tonight before they reopen the rift.”
“If you believe you must return to fight the good fight, I will support you any way I can.” Valeria pulled her robe around her tighter. “But that Hélène must pay for her duplicity.”
“Totally agree,” Iris said. “That bitch deserves to hurt for the pain she has caused.”
Valeria took Denny’s hand. “What is her end game in this, Golden? Just what is it she wants?”
“I am not sure, but I have a hunch. I am waiting for one more piece of research before I make a solid plan. I don’t believe Hélène is in this alone.” Denny glanced down at Peyton. “She’s fighting hard, that much is clear. Goddamn Vodouisants. I oughtta just kill them all.”
Iris pulled Denny away. “Uh-uh. That’s not how we operate, DH. Let’s get the damned Dybbuks and let the rest sort itself out. You owe Hélène nothing now. Her word is shit.”
“I have to agree with Iris, Golden. You owe her nothing any longer.”
“I know. As soon as Lauren calls me back, I’ll know what tack to take.” Denny hugged Valeria before surprising everyone by leaning over and kissing Peyton’s forehead. “You can do this. If you don’t, I swear I’ll help put the genie back in the bottle, but keep fighting, Peyton Farquar. Keep fighting.” Grabbing her leather jacket, Denny checked her weapons before zipping up. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
When Iris went upstairs, Denny nodded once to Valeria. “I can’t risk taking her. Keep her here.” Then she quickly scooted out the door.
Denny would not put Iris at risk. She was going to end this thing tonight, once and for all. She was tired of this city and its multitude of magic, both seen and unseen. She missed Rush, missed her bed. Missed––
Her phone rang just as she got to the park.
Stepping out of the car, Denny answered the phone.
“I got some better info on this Devereaux family and all I can say is I hope you’ve not gone and pissed them off.”
Denny switched ears with the phone. “Talk to me, Lauren.”
“Okay. First, it took me a while to get the original spelling right. It seems that every decade, they change the spelling of their last name. Started off as D’voreau and has been spelled a jillion different ways in the last two hundred years. Anyway, they’re an old, old family from New Orleans whose great, great, great grandfather was accused of being a demon hunter and was burned at the stake”
“Ugh. That’s a shitty way to go.”
“There’s more. The family name was most recently La Devereaux. A family from the early seventeenth century who were called the voleurs demon or demon stealers.”
“I thought they were just a myth.” She paused here, an odd inkling feeling that maybe she needed to rethink was the considered myth and what was real.
A bullet shot the phone right out of Denny’s hand. The phone landed in multiple pieces on the road.
Her Hanta went commando, leaping over a six foot hedge as gunfire erupted all around her, shooting out the window of her rental, the driver’s side mirror and her two tires.
She pulled out Fouet and held the cylinder to her chest. She had no idea how many were out there, but they were waiting for her to reveal her position. Denny felt the power of the Hanta fill her arms and legs, making her stronger—inhumanly so. But she was still as good as dead if she didn’t make a move.
She wasn’t about to let that happen.
Right or left, they’d nail her before she could get Fouet free. There was no down.
There was only up.
Denny knew she had but one chance to cut them down with just one snap of Fouet. One chance at a clean shot or this thing was over before it began.
They’d called in reinforcements. Armed thugs. Dudes with guns.
Up it was.
Denny gripped Fouet in one hand as she squatted on the ground facing the waiting shooters. The Vodouisants had already seen her demonic handiwork and had clearly decided the best hunter was one filled with lead. They weren’t messing around with demonic weapons. No, they would kill her and deal with her Hanta later.
“Come on, Silver,” Denny said to herself. “Let go.”
Denny closed her eyes and released the Hanta, which sprang straight up in the air a good twelve feet––high enough for Denny to snap Fouet underneath her feet, taking out several, but not all of the shooters.
Two bullets found their mark: the first went through her left forearm; the second nicked the top of her left ear.
Both shooters imploded before Denny’s feet were back on the ground as Fouet, compliments of the Hanta, found its mark.
One shooter remained alive, and as he emptied his weapon, Denny brought Fouet around over her head and sliced off his arm.
As the demon thug fumbled for a second gun tucked in his belt, Denny pulled Epée out and covered the eight feet in one stride before placing the tip under his chin. “Where’s the source, asshole?”
“Like I’d tell you?”
Denny shook her head. “I suppose not.” Then she shoved the sword up through his head, causing him to explode.
Demon guts were everywhere.
So were the guts of her phone.
As Denny knelt down to pick up the case that had split in two, she felt the Hanta even more powerfully than ever before. He was trying to heal her as blood washed over her arm and hand from the wound in her forearm. As she leaned over, more blood dripped onto her leather pants. Reaching up to feel her ear, she touched the tear in it.
“Jesus H.” Her upper ear was split in half and bleeding profusely. “Motherfuckers.” Rising, Denny held her weapons at her sides. They were coming.
There would be more.
She was sure of that.
She’d caught them unprepared the first time but they were ready for her now, and that would be problematic.
But not problematic enough to stop her. Denny was tired of being played...tired of magic and Voodoo and all things supernatural.
She was tired of this city and its creepy ways.
She no longer owed Hélène the opportunity of saving her son or the other boys. They were fair game now. She no longer had to worry about an extraction. She could slice the shit out of all of them and call it a day if she so chose. She could blast them. She could...
Then she shook her head.
As much as the Hanta would love to just destroy them, Denny had other ideas. She would cast the Dybbuks out as planned because those boys were innocent—caught in the crossfire of a drama being played out between magical forces. She couldn’t kill them, no matter how much the Hanta wanted her to.
And, oh boy, did he want to eat their souls.
No, she would have to stay the course, demons be damned. As long as there was a rift, there would be danger.
And she was fed up with all this danger. It was time to end this thing.
***
Denny worked her way around the outskirts of the park until she saw the glow. This time, it was coming from an enormous boulder.
“Hélène is here. I can feel it,” Denny growled in a low whisper. “You fooled me once, bitch Priestess. You’ll not get another chance.”
Creeping
with a stealth that surprised herself, Denny moved closer to the scene. Over a small fire, Hélène was nattering that Haitian Creole Denny was learning to dislike.
One thing she knew, though: this was not the same incantation she’d used earlier. No, this one was something altogether more vile and dark. The energy from it riled up her Hanta, which felt edgier and more irritated than a moment ago.
As Hélène chanted and the drums began beating in that mesmerizing rhythm, two of the Vodouisant boys escorted a hooded figure to the fire.
The first thought Denny had was that this was some sort of a sacrifice.
As she rose from her hiding place, both weapons at the ready, she was stunned to see Wynn Devereaux’s face peering out from behind the hood.
What the hell was this?
The Hanta came roaring to life upon seeing the older hunter standing between the two possessed Vodouisants, seemingly of his own free will.
The puzzle piece slowly fell into place for Denny as she ducked down once more. “Goddamn it,” she growled under her breath.
“She knows.” Denny peered out from behind the trees in time to see Hélène pull a ceremonial dagger from her belt. “She is aware we are here.”
We.
It was the first time Denny had ever use that pronoun in conjunction with her Hanta.
“Here goes nothing, big guy.” Denny leapt in an instant, landing twenty feet from Hélène and the fire. Both her weapons glowed blue and sizzled and snapped. “I’m sorry, Hélène, but I can’t let you do that.” Fouet crackled in Denny’s hand, yearning to bite into the tender flesh of the Haitian boys.
Denny could actually sense its desire for the Dybbuk souls. Like a starving person staring at a steak, her Hanta actually craved to eat them. That was a first.
Hélène cocked her head to one side. “I’ve been expecting you, Hunter. You who never really understood the supernatural world you swim in. I knew you would come and I knew you would be alone. Your predictability will be your undoing.”
“Really? You didn’t think you’d gotten away with this little charade, this little drama of yours, did you? Don’t under estimate me, Priestess. I am far stronger than you give me credit for.”
Blood of the Demon (The Silver Legacy Book 3) Page 22
