by Dana Fredsti
A black-and-orange butterfly, arcane patterns visible in the swirls of the wings’ patterns…
Tia stopped, pulling herself almost physically out of the near-hypnotic reverie she’d fallen into. Next to the black-and-orange butterfly was a blank page.
Tia knew there was something off. The butterfly was her favorite of LeRoy’s portfolio. Before she left, she hoped to have enough money to get this particular tat inked between her shoulder blades. She’d also admired the blue morpho on the adjacent page. The one that that sweet, quiet girl had chosen for her tattoo a couple weeks ago. That page was now blank.
Running her fingers along the crease, Tia couldn’t feel any sign that the page had been ripped out of the book. And when she turned to the next page, the Death Head moth was still there. So, either she’d imagined the blue morpho or the drawing had mysteriously vanished from the portfolio.
Impossible.
And yet… there was no denying it.
Tia flipped through more pages, finding more blank spaces that she could swear had been filled with LeRoy’s artwork.
Here. Hadn’t there been an irradiated star, its rays so bright they seemed to glow? Gone. And this blank page sandwiched in between a Gila monster and a nest of vipers so real they seemed to writhe as she stared at them… Hadn’t there been some sort of alligator?
Thump.
Tia snapped her head to the side, staring into a darkened corner of the room. Nothing that she could see, but she felt something. A presence… or maybe it was just her nerves, stretched to breaking point. She looked at the key in her hand.
She’d reached a crossroads, even though she hadn’t realized it yet. She could follow through on her intent to see what lay beyond in LeRoy’s private workspace. Or she could put the key back in the painting and do what she’d done for the last couple of years—fit into the cracks and crevices of other people’s lives and make her own mark one tattoo at a time until she’d finally filled the gaping hole of self-loathing left by a childhood of neglect, after her mom had died.
“Oh, fuck it,” Tia muttered. She’d had enough of self-pity and inaction. Time to swim against the tide instead of letting it toss her around like a twig.
She stiffened her spine. Armed with the key—it probably was a long shot, but why not try it, right?—she once again approached the door leading to LeRoy’s inner sanctum. She told herself she didn’t expect the key to fit. This was just to satisfy some fucked up sense of honor so she could report back to Lee that all was well, that her suspicions were groundless and stupid, and then she could get back to her ink with a clear conscience.
The key slid in without a hitch. Tia’s heart skipped a beat before starting to pound very loudly in her ears.
She hesitated. Going through with this could mean the end of her internship.
Or the end of much more, an inner voice whispered.
Before she had a chance to decide, the key moved beneath her suddenly nerveless fingers, turning in the lock by itself. The door opened. Only a crack, but that was enough. If Tia had felt chilled before, the blood in her veins had now gone arctic. Like she would shatter if she moved too quickly. She wanted nothing more than to run, and not just to her station. No, she wanted to get the hell out of New Orleans, get back on the road to Los Angeles or Vegas, even Bakersfield, just anywhere the fuck away from right here and right now.
Instead she set her hand against the door, the wood seeming to pulse underneath her palm as if it were breathing.
Fuck this.
Before she could move, something slimy coiled around her wrist and yanked her into madness.
* * *
“This is Tia. Leave a message.”
Short and to the point. Easy to remember, especially after hearing it at least a dozen times since I first called her number when I’d woken up. She’d promised to call as soon as she’d found out anything, but what if she’d just decided to ditch town instead? I knew her guilt level was off the charts, but that could make doing a runner even easier if she were the kind of person who couldn’t face their own mistakes.
Although if what she told me was the truth, she had nothing to be ashamed of—she’d been used. Even if she was correct and the tattoos were related to the disappearances and to the creature I’d killed last night… how the hell would she have known?
Still… why wasn’t she answering?
Shit.
“Lee! They’re ready for you on set!”
Time to get back to work. And somehow keep my head in the game instead of worrying about Tia.
* * *
Tia woke up to the sound of buzzing, like a swarm of bees, and felt those same bees stinging her over and over on her back, in between her shoulder blades. She made a sound of protest, slow and drawn-out, as if her vocal chords had rusted in place. Surely that wasn’t her voice?
“Hush, Tia.” LeRoy. “I’m truly sorry for this, but you have no one to blame but yourself.” The stinging continued, needle-sharp.
Needles. He was inking her.
At first Tia couldn’t remember why this should send a ripple of pure terror through her. Then her fogged brain drew up an image of the thing Lee had killed, the warped beauty of the faded wings and the horror of the thing’s face, melted, barely human features, and those wide blue eyes filled with pain and hunger.
No. Nonononononononono!
The shriek of denial rang in Tia’s head, but the most she could manage was a strangled cry. Then something stung her shoulder and she drifted away into unconsciousness.
* * *
“Will there be enough time for the new Cantrix to manifest?” Hyla cocked her head and stared down at the unconscious girl, watching in fascination as LeRoy created yet another masterpiece on Tia’s back.
Without taking his eyes off his living canvas, LeRoy replied, “I do not know for certain. The time draws near to perform the invocation and open the gates. Each harbinger has its role to play, though, and we cannot do without the Cantrix.”
“Can the invocation wait until her gestation is complete?” Polli drew closer to her twin so she, too, could watch the master at work.
LeRoy heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Polli,” he said, his tone almost gentle, “if time were not of the essence I would be tempted to use you as the Cantrix’s vessel for asking a question that proves to me you either do not pay attention when I speak, or that you are simple-minded to a dangerous degree.” Knowing better than to try to defend herself, Polli gave an audible gulp that sounded like the croaking of a frog.
“But fortunately for you,” LeRoy continued, “I will require your assistance for a while longer. A much more talented girl must suffer and die instead. If we miss the conjunction of the stars and the gateways…” He shook his head. “This is not an option. They will not be in alignment again for another century or more. Our god has waited long enough.”
A pause while he finished up the final touches on Tia’s back. “I will be done soon. She’ll have to gestate somewhere close to the Veil so we can lead the Cantrix there quickly when it’s time. Meanwhile, I want you both to check the other harbingers, make sure none of them have emerged prematurely.”
Putting the first Cantrix in Lafayette 1 was a miscalculation, he thought as the twins hastened to follow his orders. But the cemetery had been close to the vessel’s home and, like all other New Orleans cemeteries, closed before sunset. He knew from prior experience that the hosts’ vessels sometimes grew increasingly active as the harbingers took over more and more of their bodies. No one should have been there to hear any disturbance. And as much as the gestation process hurt—agonies untold—the vessel should not have been able to cry out.
Ah well, he wouldn’t make the same mistake with Tia. The land near the Veil had a small, private graveyard with an old mausoleum that would do nicely. Private property with only one access road, and that merely a deeply rutted dirt track. The Thaumaturge and the Veil would keep any possible intruders from reaching the house swampside. He woul
d keep Tia close at hand and do what he could to encourage the harbinger to come forth quickly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I didn’t get back to the hotel until a little after ten, covered with dirt and sweat. I craved a shower the way a drunk craves a drink. And I wanted one of those too, but after the shower, preferably in my room. The last thing I wanted or expected when I walked wearily past the Carousel Bar was a chipper female voice saying, “How about a drink, cutie?”
I whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice. Eden, wearing a pale-pink halter-necked sundress and looking as fresh as someone who’d just stepped out of the shower I so desperately craved, stood at the entrance to the bar. She held a tall, frosty glass in one hand and seemed totally oblivious to the cadre of men watching her every move from their seats.
Tired as I was, I couldn’t help the huge smile that spread over my face as I hurried over to greet her. “Fair warning,” I said as I gave her a one-armed hug, “I need a shower.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Eden squeezed me tightly with both arms without spilling her drink. “Come, let me buy you something yummy and filled with alcohol.”
“I really want to have a drink here,” I admitted wistfully. “I haven’t managed it yet. But you smell like roses. I smell like swamp. My 24-hour deodorant gave up the ghost at least six hours ago. And I also really need to talk to you about some stuff that I’d rather not share at a bar.”
“We can do the bar another time,” she said without hesitation. “Here, help me finish this and we’ll go upstairs.” She handed me her drink. I took a cautious sip, totally unable to tell what I was drinking other than it tasted really good and had a shitload of alcohol in it. I handed it back. “This will kill me on an empty stomach.”
“More for me then,” she said cheerfully. She gave a little toast and then downed the contents of her glass.
“You already have the room key?”
Eden nodded. “How about I settle my bill while you go up, get your shower, and get another twenty-four hours from your deodorant. Then we can pajama up and talk.”
I gave her a thumbs-up and she went back into the bar, ignoring or oblivious to the hungry looks being cast her way.
* * *
By the time I’d taken a long, hot shower and changed into a black tank top and blue flannel pajama bottoms with penguins on them, Eden had come back to the room and jammied up in a white tank top and pink flannel bottoms sporting winged pigs. I made a quick call to room service, and we curled up in the comfy chairs. I got to work opening the wine.
“So,” I said, picking up the bottle of red wine Berserker Productions had left for me, along with a handy little waiter’s helper bottle opener. “You remember what happened when we were filming Pale Dreamer?”
Eden laughed. We’re not talking a small polite laugh, but rather a full-on guffaw, totally at odds with her appearance. I smiled and continued opening the wine, peeling the foil and jiggering the cork open while Eden roared with laughter. When her outburst finally subsided, she raised an eyebrow, and said, “You’re kidding, right?”
“Well, it didn’t come out exactly the way I meant it to.”
“I mean, I realize that being attacked by weird shadow demons and having the film set suddenly surrounded by unworldly darkness is an everyday occurrence for some people, but, yes, I do remember it.”
I poured us each some wine, just a little bit first. We took a minute to try it, both swirling and sniffing, even though I wasn’t entirely sure what I was sniffing for. I was relatively new at this whole wine thing, and one didn’t swirl and sniff beer as a general rule.
We both tasted it, looked at each other and grinned. “That is some good shit,” Eden said appreciatively as I poured more into our glasses.
“Anyway,” I said, “what I want to tell you has to do with that. Stuff I found out from Sean and Seth. Stuff about my family, and it’s pretty much as totally out there as the Davea demons.”
Taking another sip of what even I could tell was a really good wine, I proceeded to fill Eden in on my whackadoodle family history. Pretty much the same spiel I gave Cayden, adding on the whole fight with the seaweed dragon in Malibu. I’d just reached the point where Cayden saved the little girl when there was a knock at the door.
“Here, let me.” Eden jumped to her feet and opened the door, admitting a young man bearing fried prawns and filet mignon medallions, which he deposited on the table between our two chairs. Eden sent him on his way with a five-dollar tip and a smile. He seemed equally happy with both.
“Okay. So you left off at the point Cayden saved a child.”
I nodded. “You don’t seem that surprised by the whole Lilith stuff.”
“I’m not.” Eden picked up a prawn in one pink-manicured hand and regarded me solemnly as she took a bite. “There are a lot of weird things in this world, Lee. It makes sense that they have an origin story.” She swirled her wine, staring into its burgundy depths. “And this isn’t the first I’ve heard of Lilith, or her children.”
“What about the whole curse handed down through her descendants?” I asked. “I googled this whole shitstorm after Sean told me about it, and although there were some fun stories about her being a succubus, a lamia, a bad wife, a slut who slept with demons and had baby demons… none of it mentioned a centuries-old curse needing cleanup duty.”
“I don’t think the real story was ever written down.”
“Then how did you hear about it?” The words just slipped out and I hoped my voice didn’t sound as accusatory as it felt. Eden didn’t seem offended.
“Tales handed down through the family,” she answered. “Gossip from demons in bars, guys who were a few sheets to the wind. That kind of thing.”
I nodded. Took another sip of wine. “You don’t think I’m nuts?”
“Of course not,” she exclaimed. “Who else have you told about this?”
“You’re only the second person I’ve told,” I admitted. “I mean, Sean and Seth know, obviously, and I think Faustina knows on account she’s an ex-goddess, but—”
“Randy knows, then?”
“Uh, no.”
“Really?”
“Really. Have not told him.”
“So, who did you tell?”
Heaving a sigh, I muttered, “Cayden.”
Eden’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Let’s see, maybe because he hired me to work on a film even though we got attacked by a freaky-assed sea critter that pretty much had me in its crosshairs, and—” I emphasized “and” with a wave of my fork, sending a shrimp slapping back onto the plate “—it was obvious that the thing was gunning for me, but he still hired me anyway. Considering that this conceivably could happen any time or any place—”
“Wait. You getting hired or a monster gunning for you?”
“Sadly, the second seems a lot more likely these days,” I admitted. “Even though Sean didn’t seem to think it would be too much of an issue, me working on films and getting attacked by monsters. Other than the fact it happened on Pale Dreamer—and did I mention the seaweed dragon? I’m surprised Cayden didn’t have an entire liability waiver just for me to sign after that happened.”
“Yeah, okay, I guess you sorta kinda had to tell him,” Eden conceded grudgingly.
“Morally and ethically speaking, yeah.”
We were both silent for a few minutes. Sipped our wine. Nibbled on shrimp and steak. I shot a sideways glance at Eden.
“So… you believe me?”
She looked at me as if I were batshit crazy. “Of course I believe you. I’ve seen you in action, remember? And even if I hadn’t…” Eden shook her head and smiled. “One good thing about you—mixed up with a bunch of other good things, of course—is you’re totally honest. You’d make a shit poker player.”
A heavy sigh of relief escaped me, one that I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding in. Telling
Cayden, I’d somehow never doubted he’d believe me. Having Eden firmly on my side felt even better. Validation.
Eden tapped her nails on the table. “You haven’t told Randy about any of this.”
“Nope.”
“But you told Cayden.”
“Yup.”
Eden shook her head. “Randy is gonna be pissed off when he finds out.”
I sighed again, this time without the relief. “Yeah, I know.”
Then I told her about the Nalusa Falaya I’d seen yesterday on my way to Black Penny.
“And it didn’t attack you?”
“No, but only because I… well, I hid. If we’d gotten into it, too many people could have been hurt or killed,” I explained.
“Like in all the Avengers movies,” Eden supplied helpfully.
“Uh, yeah.” She had a point.
“What about the butterfly critter you killed last night?”
“Here’s the funny thing,” I replied slowly. “I didn’t feel any itching from the scar and my necklace didn’t burn and nothing lit up like Frodo’s sword. I think it tried to kill me because it was hungry and I interrupted its meal. Not because of my bloodline.”
“Huh.” Eden was quiet for a few minutes as she took this all in. I drank some more wine and tried to make sense of it all, failing just as miserably my second time around. I didn’t know what to think about any of this.
“Well,” Eden finally broke her silence, “if it’s any consolation, I think you totally made the right choice not trying to take down the thin man—”
“Long being,” I corrected her.
“Yeah, whatever. You made the right choice. If he’d been attacking someone and you’d let him get away with it, yeah, that’s different. But he was just taking a stroll through the French Quarter. Attacking him would’ve endangered everyone around you, and it would have been unprovoked. The butterfly thingy was eating someone. Even if it wasn’t technically a demon, you did the right thing.”
“Thanks,” I said simply. Trust Eden to cut through all my existential angst. “Now if Tia would just call me back, I’d feel better. We need to know if there are other weird tattoo-induced monsters out there to deal with. Even better, I’d love for her to tell me she was totally off base with that whole notion and the butterfly monster was just a one-off.” Even as I said it, I knew the truth wouldn’t be so convenient or comforting.
