by Devyn Quinn
The few who had returned to try to reclaim homes and businesses were struggling. It was a region of the city that would never recover.
Eager to leave the decay and desperation behind her, Jesse decided to head for the Lower Ninth Ward. A walk of a mile and a half took her to a bus stop. Service still hadn’t been entirely restored through much of the Orleans Parish, so her options of places to go were limited.
She took a seat at the back, facing the door, just like Maddox. Nobody was ever going to sneak up on her ever again.
The bus listed into motion with a chug and a sigh, its wheels rolling over cracked asphalt.
Jesse looked out the window, hardly recognizing familiar landmarks as they came into view. So much had changed since she’d last seen the neighborhood she’d grown up in. Lacing her fingers together, she kept her hands in her lap. One thing she’d already decided was that she wouldn’t go home. She didn’t want to see what condition their old house might be in. Moreover, she didn’t want to think about the past. Despite the hardships her family had faced, the Burke family had, for the most part, been a happy one. Both her parents worked hard to provide for her and Amanda. Jim Burke taught classes in English literature at the local community college. Her mother checked groceries at the local Save-a-Lot.
As for her and Amanda—well, what could she say? They were normal young women. Both of them had graduated, moved into their first apartment, and gotten jobs. They weren’t making a lot of money, but they were making ends meet. They ate a lot of Ramen noodles and raided used-clothing shops for vintage pieces they could swap with each other to double their wardrobe.
And like most young adults out on their own for the first time, she and Amanda liked to stop by the local pub to hang out, maybe have a few drinks, and shoot some pool.
It was all just innocent fun.
Jesse closed her eyes. If only we hadn’t gone out that night, she thought, Amanda would still be alive.
The bus lurched to a stop, reminding her it was time to disembark. Though hardly spared by Katrina, the area she’d chosen was rich with small businesses, which included a lot of mom-and-pop corner stores. Many of the buildings were old and probably should have been demolished years ago.
Crossing the street against the light, Jesse headed toward one of the many consignment shops populating the area. A shop, dubbed Secondhand Rose, caught her eye. Experience had taught her that the smart shopper could often snag new or nearly new items for a fraction of their original cost in such places. One man’s trash was another man’s treasure, and the strangest of oddities sometimes turned up.
A little bell tinkled when she pushed open the door. The first thing that hit her was the smell. A musty odor permeated the air, thick, damp, and unpleasant. Though much of the merchandise had been replaced, the walls and ceiling still showed water damage. The ugly linoleum laid over bare concrete was cracked and peeling. Rack after rack of clothing stuffed the small space. An air conditioner propped in one back window labored to beat back the rising temperature. The late summer months were notorious for high humidity and even higher temperatures.
At ten o’clock in the morning the shop was relatively deserted. A salesgirl reading a rag sheet raised her head. “Anything you’re looking for?”
Jesse nodded. “Jeans,” she answered. “Preferably men’s.”
The girl pointed vaguely. “Over there,” she said before returning to her magazine.
“Thanks.”
Jesse made a beeline for the men’s clothing section. It wasn’t that she enjoyed dressing like a man, but their clothes were simply made to last longer than women’s.
She dug through the racks, looking for something close to her size, which usually meant something made for teenage boys. Though it took about twenty minutes, she finally came up with a couple of pairs of slim-legged boot-cut Levi’s that looked like they might fit.
She was about to hunt down the salesgirl and ask about a dressing room when a question interrupted her thoughts.
“Jessanne?” a women’s voice asked. “Jessanne Burke. Is that you?”
Jesse froze like a deer caught in oncoming headlights. Nobody had called her by that name since the abduction. After Amanda’s death, she’d refused to answer to it, cutting her name in half. As far as she was concerned, Jessanne had died the same night Amanda had. Jessanne didn’t exist anymore.
She was Jesse now.
Though the voice sounded vaguely familiar, she couldn’t quite place it. It was someone who knew her, but from where?
Drawing a breath, she turned around. A short brunette in a stylish pantsuit met her inquiring gaze. She recognized her ex-boss, Lenora Wilmington. Memories of sneaking a quick break behind the Chicken Shack when the boss wasn’t looking crowded into her mind. The job hadn’t paid a lot, little more than minimum wage, but it was fun.
“Yeah. It’s me.” She tried for a smile but found none. “Hello, Mrs. Wilmington.”
Lenora Wilmington frowned. “My goodness, Jessanne. You look—” She caught herself before finishing the thought. “How have you been?”
Jesse shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“I’d wondered how you were doing. I know it was a difficult time. First Amanda, then the hurricane.”
“It wasn’t easy, but we got through it. And like everyone else, we lost everything in the flood. We moved to California.”
Lenora Wilmington nodded. “A lot of people moved out after the storm. I don’t imagine all of them will come back. Terrible thing, too.”
Why did people always have to keep digging up the past? It was over and done with. “Yeah, it was.”
Her former employer pursed her lips. Her gaze dripped with pity, which was just what Jesse didn’t want or need. “How are your parents? I know it must have been hard on all of you. First Amanda, then the storm . . . I sent my condolences, of course.”
Jesse wasn’t listening. The days following Amanda’s death were all a blur in her mind. She had still been in the ICU, comatose and definitely out of touch with reality. At the time her survival had been in question.
In a way she was glad she wasn’t able to attend her twin’s funeral. There was no way she could have stood by and watched Amanda’s coffin lowered into the ground. She would have probably killed herself soon after.
Sometimes she wondered why she hadn’t.
“I heard,” she said. Although she hadn’t been able to attend Amanda’s services, all the details had filtered through her haze of grief once she’d regained consciousness. Friends and other acquaintances had sent cards, flowers, and did the usual things people do when trying to express their grief over the loss of one so young and vital. Even though she hadn’t been able to respond, the outpouring of grief touched her. She’d only visited her sister’s grave once, and never wanted to go back.
“How are Jim and Cheryl?”
Jesse shrugged. “They’re okay, I guess. I haven’t seen them since I left San Fernando.”
“Yes, well, I’m glad to hear everything worked out for your family.”
Bullshit! Everything had fallen apart with a capital F. Her mother swallowed copious amounts of Valium. Her dad drank. The demon inside gnawed. If the earth cracked apart and the sky went black, it would be a mercy.
Not that she’d ever say such a thing out loud. The woman was trying to be nice.
“So-so,” she answered, adding a benign smile. Like a puppet master pulling the strings, she forced up the edges of her mouth.
The conversation lurched forward in painful spurts, two people of vague acquaintance struggling to talk to each other without getting too personal.
“Where are you living now? Working?”
Breath rushing in and out of her lungs, Jesse felt sick. Who wanted to admit to being a college dropout? To having absolutely no prospects for a decent future beyond being a demon-ridden loser?
“Here and there,” she allowed, doing her best to evade giving any revealing answers.
Lenora Wilmington straigh
tened the thick-rimmed black frames on her face. “I can take one look at you and tell things aren’t right, Jessanne,” she said after clearing her throat. “You’re thin, you’re shabby, barely a shell of the girl I remember.” There were tears in her eyes as she spoke.
“Things change,” Jesse returned quietly. “People change. Sometimes not in good ways.”
Lenora Wilmington reached out, touching her arm. “Do you have a place to stay?”
Jesse forced herself not to jerk away. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I do.” As far as she knew that wasn’t a lie. Whether she’d realized it or not, she expected she’d be spending the night with Maddox again. The shelters were already overrun with the desperate and needy, some of whom had small children. She couldn’t sanction taking a bed and a hot meal from a child when she could look after herself.
Lenora Wilmington fingered her sleeve. “You need some things.”
Jesse thrust out the jeans she’d latched on to. “I’m getting some now,” she explained.
“Get what you need,” she said. “I’ll pay.”
Jesse shook her head. “I’ve actually got the money to pay,” she admitted. “Like I said, I’m fine.”
Lenora Wilmington immediately overrode her protests. “I insist,” she said, using the voice that would stop a worker dead in her tracks. “In fact, I just came in to drop off some of my daughter’s old clothes. Now that Sharon’s gone to college, I’m cleaning out closets to clear out the nest.” She measured Jesse. “Some of her jeans and blouses ought to fit you. And there’s a nice leather jacket she finally gave up. It’s nothing I’d ever wear, but you young people with your fads seem to like the style.”
Jesse started to refuse, then shrugged. Why the hell not? At this point beggars couldn’t be choosers. If she could pick up a few extra items for free, then she could hold on to the cash. Having a few dollars in one’s pocket was empowering.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Maddox arrived to work a half hour late.
After a bawling-out from the foreman, who’d threatened to put his boot up Maddox’s ass, he was finally allowed to punch in.
With all the damages done by the storm, the reconstruction of New Orleans was booming. Since so many people had abandoned the city in the wake of the hurricane, jobs were plentiful. Construction companies were desperate for experienced men and paid top dollar.
As the son of a carpenter and a man who’d walked through the span of two centuries, Maddox had learned early in life that the demand for common laborers would never slack off. No matter the century, people still needed roofs over their heads, and businesses needed a place in which to conduct their trade. As time had passed and new tools were invented, he’d paid close attention, learning the things that would give him a viable profession.
Though he held no certification, he could do a little bit of everything competently, from plumbing to bricklaying. His willingness to work hard helped him skirt the fact that he carried no identification and had no Social Security number. He was willing to accept a lower wage from an employer who would pay in cash. Most were willing to comply to save a few dollars on their payroll. And it wasn’t as though Maddox was the only illegal in a country overrun with migrant workers. He’d become a master at slipping through society’s cracks and getting around the small legalities that would stymie the average person.
For the last couple of months, his crew had been working on an apartment complex in the East Riverside neighborhood, tearing down buildings flooded beyond repair and erecting new ones in their place.
Grabbing his tools out of the work shed, he headed toward the unit he and Reyen Akansea, his partner, were working on.
Occupied with hanging a panel, Reyen didn’t even bother to turn his head when Maddox walked up. “It’s about fucking time you got here,” he said with a growl. “If you were thinking I was going to do all these walls myself, you’re fucking wrong.”
Drill in hand, Maddox quickly levered a line of screws into the studs behind the drywall Reyen was in the process of tacking into place. Other men worked around them, oblivious of the connection between the two. Reyen deliberately kept his distance, making friends with none of his workmates. He wasn’t pleasant or friendly. No one would work with him except Maddox.
A mix of Choctaw and Russian, Reyen had the strong broad features and deep reddish brown skin of a Native American. He was built like an ox with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, and his arms, back, and chest were coated with tattoos reflecting the spiritual nature of his people. Born in 1734, he’d discovered his heritage as a Palindrome at the ripe old age of thirtyone. To him, the Telave were part of the white man’s plague on his people’s land, which seemed to destroy everything it touched. He tolerated Maddox only because of their shared mission.
“Had a few problems last night,” Maddox confessed. He was taking things slow, trying to think of a decent way to ease Jesse into the conversation.
Reyen grunted. Though standing a hair under five-eight, he was a formidable man to deal with. “What’s hard about taking down a Kindred and one of the re-birthed? One’s human; one’s weak.”
Remembering the young man he’d killed without compunction, Maddox felt his stomach clench. The Kindred were the humans who actually wanted to be one of the demon-infected. Like most of those who fed on the pap of popular books, movies, and television shows, they bought into the vampire mystique.
The stupid fools, he thought bitterly. Yes, it was true the bite could be seductive. It could even be pleasurable, part of the oral fixation people seemed to have when warm lips were applied to certain parts of their anatomy.
But a mere bite wasn’t enough to turn a human into a vampire. That took actual bodily possession by the parasitic demon. And demons didn’t slip into the human body easily or painlessly.
“The Kindred went fast.” A quick jab to the gut was all it had taken to erase one of the cult’s quasi-human servants. Police would believe it to be nothing more than a mugging gone awry.
Reyen shot him a look. “And the undead?” His black eyes narrowed into slits. “You didn’t let it get away.”
Maddox shook his head. “No, it’s gone.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “But I had a little problem taking it down.”
“What?” the Indian rumbled ominously.
“There was already someone in the cemetery trying to do the job.”
Reyen’s thick brows shot halfway up his forehead. “I’ve heard of no new Palindromes since Sam Chen, and that was almost a decade ago.”
He hedged, then blurted, “I don’t quite think she’s one of us.”
Hammer ceasing its incessant motion, Reyen shot him a look. “She? Then it’s definitely not one of us.”
“Yeah, well, tell her that,” Maddox muttered under his breath. Might as well just spit it out. “She was a victim. About a year ago, she and her sister were infected. Her twin died. But she somehow survived.”
Reyen resumed working, hammering another sheet of drywall into place. “Impossible. Only those males who carry the right DNA structure survive the demon,” he said matter-of-factly.
Maddox licked dry lips. He wasn’t so steady with the drill now. “Tell her that,” he said, buzzing a screw down into the stud. “You can even see the thing inside her, winding beneath her skin. It’s . . . eerie.”
Reyen missed a nail, driving the head of his hammer through the drywall. “Shit,” he cursed. “No fucking way.” He swiveled and glanced over his shoulder. No one seemed to have noticed his slip. Fortunately, the hole was a small one, easily repaired with a little plaster.
Maddox pretended not to notice. When Reyen missed his mark, he was seriously upset. Hopefully he’d put a lid on his emotions before they got out of control. “I shit you not. If I’m lying, I’m dying.”
Reyen brandished his hammer. “Humans don’t survive the infection,” he countered. “Especially women. I’ve seen a few men who lived a day, maybe two. But unless the
y carry the genetic pattern of a Palindrome, they die, too.”
Maddox considered a minute. “We know the science behind our resistance. But for some reason we don’t know, this girl exists.” A small shiver crept down his spine. “She’s not human, but she’s not fully demon, either.”
Reyen’s dark gaze flared. “Then she should be taken out before she becomes a threat.”
Maddox hurried to negate that line of thinking. Had Reyen been in the cemetery last night, Jesse would have surely joined the former Candace Ackerman. The Indian wouldn’t have blinked an eye or hesitated. He claimed the demon-diseased had an odor, and his nose never led him wrong.
“She was trying to kill the one I went after last night,” he reminded. “If she’s a threat, I don’t believe it is to us. She might be a weapon we could use against them. Imagine an ally with their capabilities, yet still possessing a human soul and conscience.”
Reyen grunted. “She can’t be human. Not with that thing inside her.”
Maddox waited a beat, then picked it up. “Trust me when I say she is. She has full control of her mind and memory. She has the demon’s hunger, but she denies it.”
“The hunger . . . That’s where I’d doubt her humanity. Once she’s tasted blood . . . ,” he said, sounding cooler, though his voice held a warning.
“She hasn’t,” he said. “She won’t feed it.”
Reyen’s nostrils flared with disdain. “And what if she does?” His voice was deadly calm now, and all business.
