Hell's Belle

by Karen Greco

  "Now let's get down to business," Bertrand said, turning back to me, smiling, his eyes still black voids.

  I stood very still. I knew exactly what he was. And it had me unnerved. "I don't deal with demons," I said through gritted teeth.

  "I think this time it is in your best interest," he replied.

  "So why don't you take care of Marcello?” I spat at him. “Not demon enough to take him?"

  Bertrand twisted his face in disgust. "He is in the protection of witches. They have him cloaked with some spell, and I can't penetrate it without...coming out of the closet, so to speak."

  "And what do you think we can do, if a demon can't take care of its own pests?" Frankie paced back and forth, like a cat stalking prey.

  Tavio faced him. "Then we will give Marcello what he is after."

  "Which is...?" I was getting really fed up with their hedging.

  Bertrand pointed a long, elegant finger at me.

  "You," he said.

  Babe gasped and clutched the bar. Al reached over the bar, clutched both of her arms and steadied her.

  "He's been after you for 30 years, Nina," Tavio said. He looked at Babe and sighed. "Why do you think your parent's died, child? Protecting you."

  "You expect me to believe that after 30 long-ass years, this vamp suddenly comes out of hiding gunning for me? I've been walking around for decades, no problem."

  "The spell broke." Babe's face drained of color. Tavio nodded.

  "What are you talking about?" I whipped around and faced Babe.

  "A spell your mother put on you, to keep you hidden from the vampires like Marcello," Babe said. She lowered her head and shook it slowly.

  "And she should put a spell on you against witches too," Tavio grunted. "It was the witches Marcello is working with who broke the spell. Too bad she was too short-sighted to see that witches are abominations too."

  "She married a vampire," Babe raised her voice.

  "That woman still carried the prejudice with her," Tavio spat back.

  "Well it was a vampire that killed them," she countered. "So maybe she was right."

  "Okay, can we debate my family's bigotry some other time?" I jumped in. They were missing the larger point. "Why would Marcello want me dead?"

  "He didn't," Bertrand said. He poured more grappa into his now-empty glass. "One of my associates wants you dead. Marcello was in it for the bounty. And then you survived."

  "That's just fabulous," I muttered. "So now it's personal?"

  "It appears so," Bertrand said with a shrug. "My associate wasn't too happy with Marcello's failure, so it's been a difficult few decades for him. He’s very – how can I put it? – motivated to finish what he started."

  "Well, there will be more Marcellos if there's a bounty on my head and everyone knows where I am." I said. I looked at Bertrand, who smiled.

  His coal-black eyes held mine. "Not if I protect you."

  "And what's in it for you?" This was certainly not out of the kindness of his heart.

  "Ah, yes, what is in it for me? Right now, I unofficially run this city. I want it to be official next Tuesday."

  "Bullshit," I countered. "You've been buying up votes for weeks. You'll win regardless."

  "I have my reasons for wanting certainty on this matter. Let's just leave it at that." He smiled, and the wrinkles around his eyes became more pronounced, making his black eyes slightly more human.

  CHAPTER 24

  I blew out of Babe's with such force that I almost took the door off the hinges.

  I rounded on Frankie, who was at my heels. "The protection of demons? Oh that's rich!"

  The door pushed open and Max stepped out. I leapt on him, fists flying, but Frankie pulled me back.

  "Whoa!" Max helped up his hands. "Truce. I didn't know they were...you know..."

  "Demons, Max! They are demons! Or Bertrand is a demon." I looked at Frankie. "Is Tavio a demon?"

  Frankie shrugged. "Not technically, but he's worked with them for a long time. Over the centuries he's probably picked up a few demonic...Ticks."

  "Like day-walking?" Vampires plus sunlight equals disaster. Tavio could walk in the sunlight. Only a demon could make that happen.

  "Yes, like day-walking," Frankie nodded. "That's what indebted him to the demon in the first place."

  "That's just great," I gritted my teeth. "And you didn't tell me because?"

  "There's a lot I didn't know, Nina. And of what little that I did, like Babe said, we thought you were covered. Literally."

  "Does it really matter?" Max interjected. "Shouldn't we focus on staking that vampire? Isn't that how you kill them?"

  "I wish it were that easy, Rookie," Frankie said with a grin. "This guy has some sort of witchy protection, and that's something we cannot take lightly."

  "Well, Babe and Nina are witches," he countered.

  "Babe is a witch," I said. "She can spell. I just talk to dead people and throw shit with my mind."

  "Don't underestimate your witch powers, Nina," Frankie said, raising an eyebrow. "Your mom was the finest witch I ever saw. Babe is a very close second. And you’ve got that witch ghost possessing you. He could probably teach you a thing or two, you know, make himself useful while he’s rattling around in your brain. Even if he doesn't know much, between him and Babe, you’ll be stirring spells in no time."

  An ethereal snort caught my ear. I turned my back on Max and Frankie. Casper sort of faded in and out of view in the streetlight. Then he dove straight at me. By force of habit, I lifted my arms up as protection. A hell of a lot of good that did me. I shuddered as the cold plasma oozed into my body.

  "Tell that pendejo that I can stir more spells that would blow his elderly assed mind!" His accented voice echoed inside my brain.

  "How long have you been here?" I hissed. I hated when he did that. I wish we could communicate out of my body.

  "Who is she talking to?" I heard Max query Frankie.

  "Who do you think?" Frankie responded.

  Max turned to me. "Nina, who are you talking to?"

  I doubled over, pressing at my temples, and shushed him.

  "I heard the whole thing," Casper said as his ghostly grin animated my face. "We're going vampire hunting."

  "You are not going vampire hunting!" I said. I paced up and down the sidewalk in front of the bar. I could faintly hear Babe and Tavio raising their voices at each other on the other side of the wall. I wanted to eavesdrop but Casper was being too damn noisy in my head with his objections. Ghosts are not quiet entities.

  "Casper, please!" I raised my hand at him, which probably looked ridiculous since he had no corporeal form. "You are...you are...transparent. You cannot hold a stake!"

  "But..." I could feel his agitation rising.

  "Stop, let me finish," I warned him. "I am useless when you are inside of my body. I can't think straight. And even if we can kill a protected vampire, I don't know what those witches are capable of. Do you?"

  Casper sulked like the teenager he was when he was murdered, but I could sense him nodding. It broke my heart that he died so young.

  Cold plasma oozed out of me once again. I inhaled deeply. I was getting better at holding and releasing the possession. That was something. But regulating the vampire blood sugar post-possession was still a problem. I tried not to eye Max like a prime rib eye. Some relationship we had.

  I leveled my slightly vamped-out stare at Frankie. "So can we trust Bertrand?"

  "We have no choice, Love." He ran his hand through the tangles of his jet-black hair. He didn't like this either. But like he said, what choice did we have?

  "Demons? You are willing to trust a demon?" Max was still looking in the general direction of Casper, like he was expecting a body to form out of the air.

  "The enemy of my enemy, and all that," Frankie shrugged.

  "You asshole," Max starred at Frankie, incredulously. "You actually think we can play ball with one of those things?"

  "No, I don't," Frankie s
aid. His fangs flashed and his eyes flared. "But I will trust a demon if it can save Nina's life."

  "Yeah, about that." I looked at Frankie. "How do we even know he can save my ass? I don't see him willing to get the drop on some witched-out vampire."

  "No, that wouldn't be expedient," Bertrand said suddenly. He was on the sidewalk with us. A snapping sound, like a branch snapping off a tree, preceded his appearance. "But I can give you the tools to kill him."

  "We do your dirty work?" Max glared at him.

  "No," Bertrand countered smoothly. "Nina does the dirty work."

  "No deal," Frankie said as he stepped in between me and Bertrand.

  "She's the only one," Bertrand said. Interestingly, he took a step away from Frankie. Vampires have a hell of a time besting demons, but Frankie made Bertrand uncomfortable. "Nina and her ghost."

  "I have to be possessed to kill Marcello?" I shuddered.

  "Only a knowledgeable witch can do it, and since you have been a witch for about 48 hours, you’ll need the ghost of a witch to help." He adjusted his coat and glanced around. He clearly felt Casper's presence.

  The cold ooze washed over me quickly, a "Booyah!" echoed in my skull, and then Casper popped out again. I smacked my hand against my forehead. Goddamn teenagers.

  Bertrand motioned elegantly at my feet. "And you need the blade in your boot."

  Frankie and Max looked at my feet. I reached down and pulled the knife out of my hidden boot sheath. "How did you know?"

  He smiled slightly. "We have a history."

  "Really?" I flipped it around in my hand, finding comfort in its weight.

  "Use it like a stake," Bertrand instructed.

  He reached for the knife. I pulled it closer to me.

  Bertrand continued, "A direct hit to the heart. Then remove the head and burn the heart. But only use that knife. Now that he's under a witch's protection, this is the only weapon that can kill him."

  "Why?" I was being as surly as Casper but I didn't care.

  He looked surprised at my ignorance. "Because it kills witches."

  "That makes no sense," I countered. "It's a witch's blade. It shouldn't kill a witch."

  "We made some alterations." A wide smile spread across his handsome face. "Oh dear. You don't know."

  I held the knife, ready to pounce. "Know what?"

  "That was the knife that was supposed to kill your mother." Bertrand was so happy that he was positively glowing.

  Frankie made an angry lunge at the demon. Bertrand motioned for the dagger with a flick of his wrist, and it leapt out of my hand and into his. Then he grabbed me and pulled me to him. I could smell his cologne. At such close proximity, it barely hid the stink of demon fire and death.

  A gunshot rang out and a bullet narrowly missed my head. It lodged into Bertrand's temple. Max, in shooting stance, had his Glock held steady, eyes trained on Bertrand.

  "You fool!" Frankie spat, his eyes darkening, never moving from Bertrand's gaze. "Let's go over this one more time. You can't shoot a demon."

  A trickle of near-black blood slipped down Bertrand's face. Then he laughed and lifted the knife to my jugular. I was getting tired of being in this position.

  "Frankie, Max,” Bertrand 's velvet voice washed over all of us. "I am not the enemy here. I suggest you focus on the one who is."

  "He has a point, guys," I squirmed under the weight of Bertrand's arm across my chest. "Bertrand's not today's problem."

  "So we're just supposed to trust the devil?" Max kept his finger on the trigger.

  Bertrand laughed again. "There is no devil. Only demons."

  "Same thing," Max’s grip tightened on the gun.

  "They aren't the same," Frankie said. He still hadn't moved. His stillness was unnerving. "The devil is an angel cast down from your heaven. He was created by your God. Demons are their own creation."

  "We answer to no one," Bertrand explained further. "Which makes us infinitely more dangerous."

  Max slowly dropped the gun and holstered it under his coat. His face was ashen. I had no idea how much more he could take. The fact that he hadn't broken yet was a testament to his mental strength. Not many people could handle the truth about all the boogie men that were out there. Poor Max was getting a course in Supernatural 101 in just a few hours.

  Bertrand released me, but held onto the dagger, cradling it like a precious artifact.

  "Hand it over," I scowled at him.

  "I remember when I created this with your father," he said. He continued to stare at it, enthralled. "He couldn't even touch it at first. I had to rework the spell. Such a dirty, witchy job." He didn't bother concealing his distaste. "But it was never truly a witch killer until we made it so." He smiled again, his eyes lost in a memory. "Just two of them, to start. So the witches would finally feel a vampire’s wrath."

  Bertrand slipped the knife back into my hand, and it was my turn to stare at it.

  "So why is he killing other witches? Why not just me?" I asked. Assuming Casper was right, all the victims of supernatural activity in Providence – at least lately – were witches. If it was me that Marcello wanted, why leave a trail of bodies along the way?

  "Because the more witches he kills with the blade, the more power is drawn to the blade," Bertrand said with finality. He puffed with pride. "He's making himself invincible. It was a brilliant idea. Wish I could take the credit for it, but it was your father's stroke of genius."

  I glared at him and at the blade in my hand. My dad created a weapon that not only killed witches, but drew out their power. That explained why this particular weapon was the weapon of choice. A run-of-the-mill kitchen knife could kill a witch but only a witch's blade could channel a witch’s power. And some sort of demon spell allowed the blade to capture it.

  "A pity," Bertrand sighed. "Your father was very powerful--the most powerful of his kind. And it was all wasted on a pretty little witch."

  And with a snap of the fingers, he was gone.

  As if sensing his boss's departure, Tavio exited the bar. He touched my arm, and I bared my fangs at him.

  CHAPTER 25

  After Bertrand's bombshell, I had to cut and run. The omissions and half-truths that came from Babe, Dr. O and even Frankie felt like a betrayal. And while I know they were trying to protect me, I was still pretty pissed at the lot of them.

  Sipping a chilled glass of white wine, I soaked in my bubble-filled tub until I pruned. Dog lounged on the floor outside of the tub. Once in a while she would huff in response to my out-loud ramblings about my craptastic life.

  With my wine glass drained and my body sufficiently wrinkled, it was time to get out. I stood, water sliding down my body. My hand stopped short of grabbing my towel. I heard the apartment door open and close.

  Dog pricked up her ears and growled, low and guttural. Damn it to hell. Could this night get any shittier?

  I had nothing but a towel to keep me covered and certainly no weapons. I hoped Dog would be all I needed, but with vampire assassins after me, and demons calling an uncomfortable truce, I doubted it was a neighborhood thug doing a quick home invasion.

  I wrapped the towel around me and, still dripping, gripped the door knob. Dog leaned against me, the hair on her back was on end.

  "On three?" I whispered and looked down at her for approval. Her soulful brown eyes gave me her okay. "One. Two. Three..."

  I don't know what I expected us to do, but Dog and I both rushed out of the bathroom like our asses were on fire. Dog clearly had a better plan. She lunged on the figure that was standing over my iPod speaker dock. He sprawled out on the floor, while Dog stood triumphantly on his back, her left front paw pressing into the back of his neck.

  I ran to my bedroom and grabbed a gun out of the armoire. I stood dripping on my hardwood with the Desert Eagle pointed to the back of the intruder’s head. I pulled back the slide, and the gun made a satisfying click.

  "Don't shoot, Nina," a familiar but muffled voice called out from his face-plant
in the floorboards.

  "Max?" I released the slide and hooked the safety. I motioned Dog off. I grabbed Max by the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

  He shrugged. "Sorry, I knocked. When you didn’t answer, I picked the lock. I thought something happened. To you."

  "I was in the tub." I carefully put the pistol back in the holster I dropped on the bed.

  "Yes I see." He looked my towel-clad form up and down.

  "Well, what do you want?" I pulled the bottle of wine out of the fridge. My glass was still in the bathroom. I considered swigging direct from the bottle, but then decided to just grab a fresh glass.

  "I wanted to return those," he motioned to the table where my weapons that he confiscated were piled up. "Sounds like you'll need them.

  "Thanks," I poked gently around the pile, making sure everything was there. Then I filled up my glass. "You want some?"

  He nodded and I grabbed a second glass and filled it. "I think we both could use a drink. Lots of surprises the past 24 hours." He paused and glanced around my loft. "Is Frankie around?"

  "Frankie?" I looked out the window, and saw the reddish pink light of the sunrise peaking out from behind the crumbling brick factory buildings across the street. I sighed and gave my eyes a rub. Great. I hadn't been to bed yet. "Nope. He's probably underground by now."

  I shifted awkwardly from foot to foot while Max shrugged out of his coat. I had to admit he looked fantastic in just a simple t-shirt and a pair of loose jeans that were belted around his narrow hips. The shirt was just tight enough that I could see the outline of his abdominal muscles.

  Max caught me watching him and smiled. My face suddenly flushed with embarrassment. I was fabulously underdressed, but there wasn’t much privacy in an open loft, and Max was getting comfy on the couch.

  "I don't really know what to make of all this," he said. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the glass of wine in his hand. "It's like a nightmare, really. Witches? Demons? Vampires?"